


I'd Sleep Better I Suppose

by Lastavica



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Bruce Banner, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton-centric, Clint Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hulk Feels, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, I had to deal with it this way., Loki - Freeform, Loki's manipulation of Clint hit me right in the heart :(, Making Progress, New York City, Nightmares, No one gets there alone, PTSD, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Hulk, SHIELD, Sadness, Shawarma, Solidarity, Sparring, Stark Tower, Strength, Strike Team Delta, Team, Team Bonding, Tesseract, Wrote this in 2012, hulking out, letting friends help, unmade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lastavica/pseuds/Lastavica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't just forget something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark had room to accommodate everyone at his Tower, even if the top half of the building had been partially destroyed. He had let all of them know, with a mouth full of pita, that they were all welcome for as long as they needed. Natasha, Clint, and Bruce were in. Steve tried to muster the will to get himself to his apartment (assuming it still existed), but a free ride to the tower sounds so... effortless. So, he agreed. Thor declined. He would accompany his brother to S.H.I.E.L.D. The god of thunder would keep watch by his brother that night.

So the heroes took refuge above the shattered city that night. In the confines of Stark Tower, locked away in various rooms that night, were six people hiding in the darkness. They finally had a chance to try and dress their wounds. Some however were dripping with more blood than others.

On top of the still made bed, Pepper held Tony and listened as he tried to make sense of it. She knew he knew it didn't matter, but that he needed to say it. Together they grieved for Phil. Tony felt he had failed him in the worst way. In his mind he could see Phil's mild mannered fierceness. He and Pepper already missed him and it hurt. Earlier, Tony wiped tears from her eyes as she expressed what she had felt when she saw him disappear through that portal. "I was never going to see you again." She gently wept into his chest. His hands cradled her head against himself. He whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry." There was nothing else he could have said as he tried not to envision those cold unfamiliar stars in his mind again. It hurt and that was all.

Bruce punched out the mirror in his bathroom and proceeded to cry himself to sleep in the empty tub. He didn't know why. He felt too much. There was, of course, the ever present anger. Then there was a fear and an overwhelming sensation of a new freedom that he didn't know if he could handle. There was the relief of having let loose. An excitement for being a part of something good and saving lives. It was like his swollen heart had finally been lanced and was draining out. It hurt. It was good and it was necessary and it had been a long time coming, but it hurt. The tub walls gave him a sense of security, of containment. It made him feel safe. Safety had been out of his reach for so long.

Steve lay alone. Completely and totally alone. He simply did not sleep. He stared at the ceiling. He tried to pray. He thought about Peggy. That is when he too began to cry. He was alone. He covered his eyes though there was nobody to hide from. Steve was impacted by the force of how profoundly out of place he was. And it hurt.

In Barton's given room Natasha and Clint sat together just looking out the window. Both agents were no longer clad for battle. Clint wore a dark hooded sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. Natasha wore a t-shirt and black pants. Their hands were clasped tightly together as they leaned on each other, seeking safety. When the two of them were alone, there was no hesitation to display the full extent of their trust and reliance on one another. Eventually Natasha said she needed to sleep, and rose to leave, but Clint didn't let go of her hand. She cocked her head and questioned him with her eyes.

"Please stay?" was all he asked.

He could admit it to her. He didn't want to be alone. Not after what was done to him, what he did,.

"Ok" she said "I will."

Natasha then settled into the bed. Clint stayed by the window for a while after she lay down. There was a lot still on his mind.

When his head finally hit the pillow nothing happened. Neither one of them could really sleep. She woke up so many times that she eventually gave up and chose to take up watch on the windowsill. She alternated between watching Clint try to sleep and looking out over the half ruined city. Every so often he would look over at her and then, as if reassured by her presence, he would roll back over. Eventually Clint did fall asleep and stay asleep.

Natasha's eyes never got heavy so she remained where she was. Near dawn, he cried out in his sleep. Natasha looked up sharply. "Clint?" He gave no response. He was not awake and suddenly thrashed violently. "Get out!" He screamed. Natasha was nearly paralyzed by the sound of his voice. She had never heard that horrified tone from him before. Shaking it off, she got off the window sill and sat on the bed beside him. Barton's hands were now clutching tightly to his chest, his t-shirt tangled in his fingers. "No!"

Gently her hands rested on his. "Clint."

He awoke abruptly and scrambled up into sitting position. His eyes darted around trying to focus. "Oh fuck!" He gasped hard for breath. His chest heaved with great effort.

"I'm here." Natasha said in her usual steadiness.

He looked at her and, as his eyes acknowledged her, his face fell apart. He couldn't even try to stop it. This was something she had never before seen. Barton began to sob. Taking in breaths that seemed to tear through his chest and pushing out the most raw, ugly sounds. Natasha moved closer to him and put her arms around him. He seemed to drag himself into the refuge of her embrace, his arms wrapped around her, his face buried in her shoulder.

"He can't hurt you." She soothed, her voice never losing it's serious tone, no matter how much feeling her heart contained.

"I killed you!" Came his muffled voice. The words were fragmented by sobs. "I couldn't stop it!"

Their trust was total, but physical boundaries like this had never been crossed. She had not been there for him in this way before, but he needed it now. Clint had experienced the temporary destruction of himself, and been forced to watch. Natasha pulled him closer and gently pressed her face to the side of his. She spoke quietly to him. "I'm here. I didn't let you hurt me."

She could even be trusted her to save herself from him. Another harsh sob wracked his body. He had a fistfuls of her shirt in each hand as he held onto her, having no one, nothing else in the world. Just her.

There was nothing to be said, no excuses, no reasons. Loki exploited all that Barton had to offer and now Clint was reeling. He had spent all day at 100%, with enormous amounts of focus and no lack of things to focus on, but now there was nothing. It was just him alone with his own mind. He felt in this moment as though, when Loki had pulled him out and stuffed in all of his malice, that it hadn't fit. It broke the structure and that structure, now emptied, began to collapse.

Now, he just cried. That's all he had. He'd killed good men. He had destroyed things he lived for and he had attempted to take down his only friend in the world. Natasha was his whole family. She was Nat, the only person he loved.

Clint continued to cry for a long time and she didn't let him go. Eventually his sobs faded into steady breathing, and when the morning sun had finally filled the room, he had exhausted himself. Soon, Natasha began to feel the dead weight of his sleeping body. When she had carefully lowered him back down, she examined his face. His red and puffy eyes were now closed and calm. She pushed some of his hair off his sweaty forehead and then quietly lay back down beside him. Natasha closed her eyes and fell into heavy sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers!   
> I originally wrote the first chapter as a one shot and posted it on ff.net last year. I then kept on writing and it became an entire story. It's taken me a long time to get around to posting the rest of it here on Ao3 too. I have made some small edits before reposting.
> 
> Here is the rest of the story. It's one that's close to my heart. It's the healing process I needed to see Clint go through. Him being "unmade" really hit a nerve with me. So thanks for reading!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

Their conversation was loud and animated. Cathartic is what it was. The Avengers were seated around Tony's very large table. Pepper and Bruce had spontaneously collaborated and put together a feast which was now being enjoyed by five of the weary hearted heroes. Phil's funeral had been that afternoon and one by one they had all returned to the tower. The couches and chairs in Tony's penthouse slowly began to be occupied by people lost in their own thought. Bruce hadn't known him, but Tony and Pepper were his friends and they mourned him. Natasha knew him well and he was her friend, but she had only ever given her heart to Clint. She'd maintained a distance with all others including Coulson. Steve regretted the loss of the man he barely knew. Not one of them was as affected by Phil's death as Barton because none of them had been the cause. At least that is what Clint believed. He also considered Coulson a friend, probably a bit more than Natasha had. Phil had been his only other friend after her. Although, nobody took up more space in his soul than she did.

Natasha had grown tired of the camaraderie around the table and began missing Clint's presence. So, in the midst of conversation Natasha slipped out of the room. Only Pepper noticed her leave. Tony, Bruce and Steve were oblivious.

The hallways of the tower were very quiet. By now it was close to ten at night. She took the elevator to the top floor and then made her way to the top most part of the tower and out onto the roof. Out in the dark, overlooking the city Clint sat with his legs hanging off the ledge.

"Banner and Pepper made a great dinner downstairs. You should come down."

Clint shrugged. "Too many people."

"There are 4 of them, Barton."

"Stark counts as 10."

"Agreed. ...You ok?" She asked.

Instinctively Clint drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

That was the only answer she required. She sat down beside him, close enough for their arms to be touching.

"It's not your fault."

"I know." He said, but his voice betrayed him and Natasha could see the gloss of latent tears in his deep eyes. He didn't cry though.

"I'm just sorry to see him go."

Natasha leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I know."

Neither of them went back downstairs. Clint was grieving and held himself responsible. He could not do that with the others. He needed to hide. He just needed her.

The morning sun rose over their backs. Slowly the city below became clearer and clearer in the sunshine. Natasha and Clint had sat together all night in silence, hand in hand. Although they had not slept, their minds and bodies had rested. It was no different than on a mission. The two of them were very good at this type of thing.

Natasha rubbed a gentle circle on Clint's back. He looked at her with her small smile and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Good morning." She said. Her face possessed a gentle quality and it was all for him.

"Morning." He actually felt good. He didn't sleep and she was at his side, so no nightmares, no fear, no guilt. No thoughts at all really. It had been a truly peaceful night for him.

"Are you hungry?" Clint asked her.

"I could eat." She shrugged.

"Do you mind if we go somewhere? I need to get out of here."

She nodded and he got up. Clint offered her an outstretched hand, which she accepted, and pulled her into standing position. A cool breeze blew across their faces. Clint looked out at the waking city and, in a mischievous tone, suggested: "Let's take one of Stark's cars."

Natasha nodded with an approving smirk.

Neither of them were particularly challenged by sneaking out of the Tower, and especially not by jacking a billionaire's car.

So they drove. Clint did not stop at a diner in the city, he did not stop outside the city either. He continued for a long time down the highway until things became a bit more rural. Natasha didn't ask him where they were going. She didn't care. Just being with Clint was always enough. When they finally stopped it was at a highway diner. The parking lot was sparsely populated with vehicles. They got a corner booth by the window, away from any other customers.

Clint ordered a lot of food that Natasha shared with him.

They didn't talk for a long time, but when they did it was because of Natasha's quiet question.

"Will you see the shrink?"

"I don't tell my thoughts to strangers. I tell my thoughts to you."

She nodded. This was not new information.

"So what will you do?"

Clint looked out the window.

"I don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

The week following battle and leading up to Phil's funeral had been strange. Tony immediately (with many many hired hands) went to work on Stark Tower. Pepper planned Phil's funeral. Steve and Bruce joined citizen volunteers to help clean up the city along side the civil servants and other volunteers. The two of them were able to maintain their anonymity. Thor was gone, having taken Loki with him. Natasha was back at SHIELD, debriefing, training, preparing for new missions. Clint, however, was not.

He had been debriefed and painfully grilled over and over again about Loki and his time in his control. Fury did his best to shield him from blame. After all, he had been there and witnessed Loki's magic. When Clint had finally been released from all the agents he went straight down to the SHIELD firing range to blow off steam. It wasn't long before Fury arrived to inform him that it was necessary to see a SHIELD shrink to be cleared for duty. He would not be on active duty until that happened. Barton was deeply frustrated by this, but did not show it. Fury explained that he was not considered a traitor or a threat, that this was not a punishment. He had experienced a psychological breach by the enemy and needed to be asessed. Clint understood, but that didn't change how much it stung. When Fury left him standing in range, Clint pulled an arrow from the quiver and snapped it in two.   
"F*ck!" His shout echoed through the vast space.   
He left SHIELD that day, hoping never to speak to another human being again.

Clint took his paid personal leave. He needed time and he definitely could claim he deserved a vacation. Nobody would begrudge him that. It would give him time to think and maybe recover himself. He knew there was no way he would go see a shrink and as long as he didn't he couldn't get back to work. He didn't know what to do, so he just laid low.

He hid himself away. The team was scattered, doing various things, so he was not missed too much. Hours were spent on the roof of Stark Tower. More hours were spent on the weapons range that Tony made available to the newly formed Avengers team. He walked a lot, mostly at dusk or dawn when nobody would notice him. 

Clint Barton was an open wound and he had no idea how to help himself. His nights began on day one to be spent under Natasha's protection. He learned quickly that sleeping always came with a price and he didn't feel safe alone with his mind. He took refuge with her every night and she was steadfast. Clint made attempts at sleeping in his own room, and sleeping at all, but he would end up in her room before the night was over.

The nightmares started to intensify and Natasha was all he had.


	4. Chapter 4

"Nat, get him out! You gotta get him out. Please."

She was shaken. There were many things within her power to do. This was not one of them, but she would try. Clint was already doing his best to hide in her arms so she wrapped them tighter around him. Her mouth pressed up against the side of his face and she spoke calming words to him. Tonight's nightmare rattled him more than on previous evenings.

"He is out, Clint. It's only you and me here." Then, it happened again. Clint started to cry. The tears burned all the more because he was so ashamed of them. There were no sobs, though, just pathetic whimpering cries.

"You aren't alone." Natasha's heart was physically hurting her. Clint was falling apart. He wasn't even her friend. He was her everything and she felt so helpless to do anything for him. The burden of knowing his desperate situation was heavy. Especially because she knew he would never drop his guard to the point of being nothing but a raw nerve to anyone else ever. No one else on earth would ever see him cling like a child. Only her. This was deeply intimidating, more so than when she experienced the Hulk's murderous rage. What was she supposed to do?

Natasha would have reminded him of his new team, all of whom knew now what a crown Barton was to have on their team. The battle had shown them why Loki took him. He was skilled beyond anything, keen-eyed and sharp minded to an almost super human capacity. But Natasha did not talk about them. She knew he was not as comforted by this new family like she was. In the short time they had been together, she had already begun to draw new strength and a new peace from having these people with her. Barton, on the other hand, just needed her. At least, right now, that is what he believed.

"Clint. I'm here. You know I won't leave you."

That is what he needed to hear.

His weeping eventually subsided and his breathing evened out, but Natasha could still feel him shaking ever so slightly. That freaked her out.

"Don't be afraid, Clint." She couldn't believe she was saying that. He had never been afraid of anything except losing her, but his own mind was now haunting him and he was a afraid. The man was shaking in her arms.

"Tasha." He whispered her name. It's all he had. "Tasha."

"It's ok, Clint."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

There was no response.

She knew why, though. He was embarrassed. He didn't want to be doing this, but knew of no alternative.

This had gone on too many nights. It was now more than clear that Clint was not making any progress at getting past this. He slept beside her each night and each night she woke up and woke him from his evil dreams. Tonight was no different than those other nights. She just held him in her arms, protecting him from his fear.

This was not all. He still needed to clear psych to get back to active duty and they both knew he wanted his life back. He needed it. Clint could only sharpen up his aim for so long. Not that he even needed to. There was just nothing else for him to do outside of SHIELD. The time for getting away with "I'm on personal leave" had passed and Fury was beginning to ask Romanoff when he should expect Barton to show. She stalled him and evaded him, but what could she tell him? "Sorry, Director, Barton is too afraid that he won't get cleared so he's hiding." He couldn't even sleep a whole night on his own. It wasn't going to happen.

Natasha knew how to be there for Clint. She always did, but she didn't know how to help him work this out. He needed to deal with this and she didn't even know what that meant. All she knew was that he needed it. 

A few days had passed since she'd begun thinking about a way to help him and now it was time. She assumed that Barton wouldn't like it, but she was going to talk to someone. Natasha, like the master spy that she was, had chosen who she believed was the perfect person to help Clint. The first step was getting him to agree. She would get Clint the help he needed, the help she couldn't provide.

"Sleep, Clint." Nat whispered.

And he finally did.


	5. Chapter 5

From the word "go" Stark told the Avengers that they were welcome at Stark Tower. Thor was gone for now and, so far, Steve Rogers kept his apartment. He needed his space. However he was beginning to show small signs of breaking out of his self imposed isolation and spending more time at the tower. It seemed he was beginning to see what was already obvious. Captain America needed the team. He had to accept the times and make a new life. He did eventually move in as well. It was the three who had essentially been leading transient lives that took up Tony's offer and moved into the tower. Clint and Bruce had been reluctant at first. Clint went because Natasha went. She was more than willing to accept Stark Tower as her new home. It seemed strange that she would want to share a home, let alone a home with Tony Stark. But, she really did. Something in her consciousness longed for a home. A home was a thing that had never presented itself to her, at least outside of Clint. Yes, he was her home, but this was different. This was a geographical location to which she could return again and again. She liked that idea. So, into the tower went the master assassins.

Banner, on the other hand had told Tony he would think about it. And, he was still thinking about it... in his lab... on his floor...with his apartment. Tony Stark knew how to sell an idea, especially one he believed in. He had gotten a little preview of friendship with the doctor in the helicarrier lab and he couldn't let that go now. His genius had always isolated him from the world in a way, but with Banner in the same room, he got to share it and receive in return. It was glorious and new for Tony. In addition to all of this he found Bruce Banner deeply admirable and had liked him the minute he met him. Bruce, in return, liked Stark very much. Tony treated him with sincerity. And, as Bruce came to know the man better and better, it was clear that Tony Stark is only sincere when he feels completely safe. This fact blew Bruce's mind because of all the people in the world, he could, with one flex of a muscle, destroy Stark's world. This was what Bruce had been afraid of and was still afraid of, but since he moved into the tower he was growing and learning and realizing many things. It was enough (at least so far) to keep him from running. Happiness was dawning and he wasn't ready to turn his back on it. Not yet at least.

. . . . . . 

Bruce Banner stood in his kitchen. It was lovely. A place brightly lit with natural light was his favorite thing. There was a peace in it. A huge, single plated window expanding across his kitchen provided a view of the entire city. It was here he was standing and dunking a tea bag into a steaming mug of water. He breathed a peaceful sigh. The sun was just rising over New York City. Bruce liked to be up early. The solitude was good for thinking, it was peaceful, and it was safe. Always safe.

"Doctor Banner."

Bruce flinched in surprise. Jarvis' disembodied voice continued to be a surprising thing.

"Yes?" He asked, his eyes moving instinctively around the room in search of the voice's source he wouldn't find.

"Agent Romanoff had just exited the elevator."

"Ok thank you."

Bruce looked toward the kitchen entrance.

The collected red head appeared in his kitchen. Her demeanor was reserved but not nervous.

"Doctor Banner."

"Agent Romanoff. Morning." Bruce nodded to her, one hand in his pocket.

"Please, Natasha."

"Would you like some tea?" He asked, motioning with his own mug.

"No, thank you."

"What can I do for you Natasha?"

He took a sip of tea.

"Doctor, I need your help with Barton." She wasn't one to cushion anything. She had an objective.

"What's up?"

"He's pretty messed up."

"How do you mean?"

"From what Loki did to his mind and made him do."

Bruce's brow furrowed. "What kind of messed up?"

"Have you seen him around?"

"No."

"Exactly. He hides out."

"Well," Bruce said with a tilt of his head. "I don't often leave this floor."

She rolled her eyes. A cloud then settled over her expression.

"His nightmares are bad."

Bruce's eyes communicated how deeply he understood that problem.

Natasha hesitated before saying her next words. "He sleeps... with me every night because of them."

It hurt her to say that. It hurt because it made it so much more real and it hurt because she felt like she was betraying Clint's invaluable trust. She continued because he needed help. "He has to get cleared by a shrink to get back to work. That's not going to happen because he refuses to talk to a shrink and he's paralyzed by what he did."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"I think he needs to talk."

"Do I strike you as Dr. Talk Therapy?"

"No, but you know what it's like-" She stopped herself.

Bruce finished. "To do terrible things against my will?"

"...Yes." She admitted, averting her eyes.

Bruce nodded thoughtfully.

"Please, Bruce." She added, looking back at him. "I don't know how to help him. You can help him."

Bruce fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Ok." He said. "I'm not going to promise anything, but I'll think about it. Ok?"

"Thank you, Doctor." She said, assuming her professional tone once again. And then she left.

Bruce looked back out over the city. He sighed. He didn't even know Barton.

"Should've gotten paid up front Banner." Bruce thought wryly to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint was haunting the city from the roof of Stark Tower that night. He stood at the edge, just staring. No thoughts crossed his sharp mind. His hands were shoved in his pockets. The feel of each and every breeze against his skin was comforting to him. Being up high, out of reach was where he belonged. Nobody could touch him there.

But his trance was interrupted.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Came a male voice from behind him.

Clint looked over his shoulder, his face betraying him.

"Oh come on." Bruce said comfortably. "Romanoff isn't the only one who pays attention to you."

Clint looked back out over the city. "What do you want?"

"Not much. Just thought I'd pay you a visit."

Barton didn't respond.

Bruce walked out to the roofs edge, next to where Barton was perched on the ledge.

"Nice hide out." he said.

"Thanks." Clint said flatly.

"So... are you enjoying unemployment?"

Clint looked up. "I'm suspended."

"...Until you get cleared by the shrink."

Clint eyed Bruce. "Natasha talked to you."

Bruce shrugged. "It doesn't really matter does it?"

Clint stared at his shoes. "I'm not seeing a shrink."

"You won't get back to work."

Barton turned abruptly. "Yeah, thanks" he said with irritation and moved to another ledge.

Bruce now spoke to the back of Barton's head. "You don't want them to see it too?"

"See what?" Clint asked, again looking out over New York City.

"That you think you're a monster." Banner said, the reference to himself thinly veiled.

Clint did not reply to that. He didn't move. His jaw clenched tightly, trying to bite back his own darkness. Depsite himself, he suddenly realized that Bruce actually understood what he was going through. He had been there. He was there.

Dr. Banner watched from behind as Clint gave a single nod.

"That's what I thought." Bruce said softly.

He allowed for a moment without words and then offered "Well, it isn't true. Nobody thinks you're a monster except you." He paused. "We all know you're hurting. We're not oblivious to your existence."

Clint closed his eyes. He wished they were.

"Barton," Bruce explained gently. "The shrink can wait. You want to get back to work without having to peel off scabs to a stranger?"

Bruce paused. He didn't even know what he was doing.

"You have Natasha, me. And, hell, the others would do anything for you if you let them. Deal with this now. You have a team, if you want it. Then go get cleared. Easy."

Clint said nothing, but the words were resonating.

"Think about it." Bruce said and then left the roof as quickly as he'd come. He felt uncomfortable reaching out to Barton like that. Silly even, but he thought it was right. And besides, at the very least, he owed Natasha. Bruce had done what he was asked and put out a hand. It was Barton's call now.

Barton looked over his shoulder to where Banner had been standing. That was an interaction he had certainly not anticipated.

Looking back out at New York City, he sighed and shook his head. "Thanks a lot, Tasha."


	7. Chapter 7

When Barton inevitably joined Natasha in her room that night he did not mention Banner. He was brooding over the doctor's words and was not ready to tell her about it. The following day Natasha left for a short mission. Regardless of circumstances Clint always missed her when she wasn't around, but this time was different. He wondered how he would fare alone in the night. She wondered the same, but had to do her job. Clint understood this, but the new problem still remained and no amount of shame would make that go away.

The few nights he spent while she was gone were miserable. He could fall asleep initially, but it never ended well. Each time he would wake from nightmares. Once awake, it felt as if Loki were there in the room or that Tasha's murdered corpse was laying just over the side of his bed. If he looked over he would see her bloodied form. Natasha couldn't protect him this time. She was doing her job. He felt even more pathetic. He felt scared. He just wanted to curl up and die. Then, he would spend the rest of the night laying there, hoping Loki wouldn't find him. Some of that time was spent thinking about Banner and what he said. What could Banner do ease the pressure on his mind? How would talking to some nerd help him? Clint's thoughts swirled around. He knew Banner possessed uncharted depths. Everybody knew that. This had nothing to do with Bruce Banner though. This was about Clint and Clint's fears. What Banner had said was true. He didn't want anybody to see the monsters. Not the ones inside him, not the one he knew he could be, and not Loki, whose shadow moved across his consciousness all the time now. He didn't want to talk about them. Clint only wanted to hide from them and it was killing him.

Bruce, in the meantime, was back in his (new) usual routine. He spent hours working with Tony and hours working alone. At least once or even twice a week he had been leaving the tower and doing a bit of volunteering; doing check ups and attending basic medical needs at homeless shelters, crisis pregnancies centers, etc. Any place he could find that could use a doctor for free. As much as he was happy to give this Avengers thing a try, he still wanted to help where he could as Bruce, like he did in India.

The week following the "conversation" on the roof he didn't see Barton around the tower. Then again, the man knew how to avoid detection. Banner began to get comfortable. He was feeling relief. Barton wasn't coming and frankly that was ok with him. In reality he had no idea how he could help the man. What Natasha said was intense. It sounded like Barton was having some degree of PTSD, but what could he do? What had possessed him to seek out the poor bastard was beyond him. He guessed Romanoff was just that persuasive after all.

. . . . . .

Natasha returned on a Thursday morning and by the afternoon she still hadn't seen Clint. He was probably out walking and would turn up eventually. The hawk always flew home.

Romanoff and Barton had been given an entire floor just like Bruce. Neither of the agents knew (or cared) what Stark's motivation for this was. Whether he assumed they were romantic, or just appreciated the fact that they obviously relied on one another was never mentioned, so they didn't ask. They were definitely not self-conscious, but it was curious that Tony would not have an opinion on this, and even more curious that he would keep that to himself. Perhaps Pepper had pre-empted his potential tactlessness. Regardless, they were grateful to him. He promised to remodel some of the extra space into the ultimate training facility for working out, sparring, etc. Tony was probably more excited about the plan than they were. Especially Clint, disconnected as he continued to be. He and Natasha shared a kitchen and a common living space, but had two private, very large, suites. Nothing fancy, but very large. Neither of them required a lot of decoration or possessions. For so many years they had lived like monks, warrior monks. The natural consequence of their lifestyles was a kind of unintentional austerity in their (often temporary) living situations.

Natasha was laying on one of their leather couches that afternoon. Her eyes were shut but she was not sleeping. Nor was she thinking of anything. Every part of her simply rested. She was in a home, her home that she shared with Clint, and no vigilance was required here.

Although, Clint made next to no sound when he walked, she was aware of his presence. He sat down on the coffee table next to her. Natasha opened her eyes.

"Hi." she said to him. Her voice was not sleepy, nor was it lively. It was comfortably calm.

Barton looked like he had had for many many days now; like hell.

"Why did you talk to him, Nat?" Was all he said.

"I missed you too." She responded dryly.

"Tasha, please." He said, totally ignoring the remark.

"Because you need help, Clint." She said with out of character adamance. "I can't help you and you need to get back to work. He can help you."

Clint was silent. It was true.

"Talk to him." she said "You can trust Banner."

Clint looked away. He didn't even trust himself.

"I'll see you tonight." he said plainly and go up to leave.

Natasha breathed a sigh. She trusted him. Barton would do it. She just hoped it was sooner rather than later. His parting words were a confirmation that she was right to seek help for him. He'd become resigned to his situation. That stung her. It wasn't right that he had given up even trying to sleep in his own room. It wasn't right that he was afraid of himself. The thought of Loki slithered across her mind and a familiar hatred simmered.

That night...

They were both laying awake. Her back was against the headboard. She had her arm around his shoulders and her hand instinctively ran through his sweaty hair. His head was resting in the crook of her neck. The moonlight fell across the bed and lit up their feet. It had happened again. In his dream he had mercilessly and brutally murdered her, his Tasha. Again she rescued him from his torment, pulling him from the depths of his unconscious and holding him close.

Natasha finally broke the silence.

"You need to talk to him."

Clint didn't respond. He knew she was right. He'd known that from the beginning. Help was required and they both knew that the steadiness she offered was not enough. His silence told Natasha that he was absorbing her words. "You have to tackle this. Banner's at least a first step. You can't go on like this anymore."

He didn't want to.

He wanted help.

So, leaning on her in the dark, he promised that he would at least talk to Dr. Banner. "Ok." was all he said, but she knew what it meant.


	8. Chapter 8

Banner was in his lab the following evening when Jarvis' voice sounded. "Doctor Banner, Agent Barton is approaching the door."

"Oh." Bruce said, startled both by the suddenness of Jarvis' voice and the fact that Barton had actually shown up. "Please open it."

Barton's face looked mildly surprised when the glass door slid open before he could even knock.

"Come in." Bruce called from where he was still working.

Clint stepped in and looked around a bit awkwardly.

"Please, sit down ...if you want to." Bruce said to him. Clint wandered over as if he wasn't there on purpose and came to rest on a stool a safe distance from Bruce.

"So, uh, what did Romanoff tell you?" He asked, digging his hands into his pockets and looking at every place but Bruce.

Bruce took off his glasses and smiled knowingly. "Natasha? That she thought I could help."

"Can you?" Clint asked point blank.

"I'd like to try if you'll let me."

Barton shrugged. "Guess it won't hurt." His bravado was not lost on Bruce. Clint was terrified that it would hurt.

"So..." Bruce began, not knowing how or wanting to be a shrink's substitute. "Why did Natasha send you here?"

Clint glanced at Banner and let out a long exhale.

"Nightmares."

Bruce looked at him. He couldn't help a smile. "Everybody has nightmares, Clint. Fury has nightmares."

Clint just barely conceded a smile of his own.

Bruce got serious again. "What are they about?"

Barton's eyes met Banner's briefly, then averted. He hesitated "...I kill Natasha." He said it so quietly that Bruce unconsciously leaned forward.

Bruce took a second to think and then told him "I kill Tony and Pepper most nights."

Clint looked up at him, his eyes searching Bruce's.

Bruce nodded. "It hurts." He said, holding Clint's gaze.

Barton nodded back. "Yeah, it does."

With that Clint stood up. "I'll see you later."

Then he was gone.

"Ok." Bruce said to no one.


	9. Chapter 9

.

"Aren't you proud?"

There was a hideous recognition.

Something he had done.

"Look at your good work."

Clint looked down at the hazy floor. It was red. All of it red, and black.

His mind lit on fire as his eyes widened at the sight of what he had done.

Cruel, cruel laughter filled the frigid air.

His lungs split open in one sickening scream.

Then, there was a sharp crack.

And then silence. Blood everywhere.

He could see his own empty eyes. They reflected in her dead, black eyes.

.

Clint awoke with one violent recoil. He took hold of Natasha before she could even react, but she was already awake from his sudden motion. He held her so tightly.

"I'm here. It's ok." She said folding her arms around him and yawning.

"I'm sorry, Tasha." His voice was very quiet.

"What, Clint?"

He shook his head.

"Please. Just tell me." She said.

His face was hidden in her shoulder.

"My good work." He said.

Natasha froze.

"He told you that?"

"He never said it. I just knew I had to do it."

"He told me about it." She said.

Clint pulled away and looked in her eyes.

"What did he tell you?"

"He told me what he was going to make you do... to me"

She could see his jaw clench.

"I'm sorry." He looked down "I told him everything."

"I know, Clint." Her voice ever steady. "Stop. You know it wasn't your fault. We both know you could never choose to give me up, and least of all torture me to death."

Barton visibly shuddered and closed his eyes. He leaned back against the headboard and ran his hands through his hair.

"I know." He said. "I know, I just-. It's in my mind, Tasha. I can't get rid of it."

Natasha took his hand in hers. "It'll pass."

He nodded, but neither of them were quite convinced.

. . . . .

The mug between his two hands steamed and stung his palms. The smell of coffee and the sensation of pain had lately been the best ways to start his day. Clint was alive. He was in control. That felt right.

Barton never used to drink coffee. Not before Natasha became apart of his life. He thought she made the best coffee. Granted, Clint had no frame of reference for coffee. If he had, he would know that Tasha's coffee was of a strength not even the Hulk would enjoy. But Barton enjoyed it. That may have had something to do with the fact that he dumped copious amounts of sugar into his cup and colored it nearly white with milk. Natasha on the other hand drank hers black.

Clint took a sip. So good. He loved coffee. It meant Natasha. This coffee meant home.

The sun was up over the city. It's light bathed across the table where he sat, slowly heating his bare arms. Natasha had left only a few minutes ago and now he was alone. He could hear the sounds of her hitting the punching bag down the hall. Clint still had "his good work" fresh on his mind that morning. He hadn't thought much about it before, but now needed to see his confrontation with Natasha on the helicarrier. He didn't know why. He just needed to. The man literally had nothing to do besides try to fill his thoughts. He walked, he unnecessarily practiced shooting, sparred when Tasha was around, etc. etc. It was like the never ending snow day from hell. For Clint Barton, not working was nearly as bad as pain and fear. For once, though, he was going to indulge in painful memories. He was going to look into that abyss he kept avoiding.

There was no way he was going to ask Stark, and Barton wasn't stupid. He just asked Jarvis. Of course, that was only after he'd made his way through air vents into one of Tony's locked labs. It would have been easier to just access the system from Tony's penthouse, but that wasn't private enough. Clint made sure he knew Tony was occupied elsewhere when he made his way to the lab.

Jarvis pulled up the security feeds from the helicarrier.

Clint sat sifting through footage until he found what he was looking for. Even on the security footage he could see the bright glowing blue in his eyes. Clint hadn't seen this before. Something quaked in the back of his mind causing him to avert his eyes momentarily. He swallowed and then looked back at the screen.

As he watched their fight his eyes danced, following the movements on the screen. Clint hated the man on the feed. He hated him for the way he fought her. It wasn't sparring or even an effort to subdue her. He wanted her dead. Clint hated that man for the look in his glowing eyes. There was nothing in them save for a burning desire to plunge a knife into her neck.

He continued to search his face for any sign of himself.

"You should turn that off." Natasha said. She'd approached in total silence and was standing at his shoulder.

"I never wanted to hurt you." He said, not taking his eyes off the video.

"I know."

Clint shut down the screen and got up. Taking her hand, he pulled Natasha into a gentle embrace. Pulling her head toward his shoulder, he kissed her cheek. Natasha relaxed against him.

"I love you."

"I never doubted that."

. . . . . . 

That night Bruce was typing away furiously at the computer. He adjusted his glasses as he consulted a stack of paper beside the keyboard. He was alone, lost in his lab rhythm. He also had a Tony rhythm, but it was far less fluid and far more disjointed. When Tony was not in the lab, he returned to his own.

Data flew across the screen as he typed. Just as he was reaching for the stack of paper to flip pages, a voice behind him made him jump.

"Looks boring."

The stack of paper flew into the air.

"Sh*t!" Bruce shouted in surprise.

Clint froze in place for a second, fearing the appearance of "the other guy". But all was well. He put his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "I'm sorry."

Bruce held his chest and breathed deeply.

"It's ok. I was just in my own little world."

"You ok?"

"Yeah, we're fine."

"Sorry about you stuff." Clint said as he knelt to pick up the papers.

"No worries. They're numbered."

Five minutes of silent paper stacking passed between the two of them.

"Thanks." Bruce said as he stood up and placed the papers back on the desk where they had been. When he looked back up, he didn't see Barton.

"I'm here."

Bruce looked over toward the windows. Barton was inspecting an unfamiliar machine. Dr. Banner decided not to press him and went back to what he was doing. Some minutes passed as Barton meandered around the lab getting a closer look at things and touching things he probably should not touch. Stealing a few glances over at him, Bruce was amused because Barton had the look of a curious child. Eventually he reappeared on the nearby stool. The same as on his last visit to Bruce's lab. Bruce looked over and offered a nod to let him know he was aware of his presence. Clint absently watched Banner's fingers fly across the computer keys for a little while, his mind clearly somewhere else.

"Do you trust yourself?" He suddenly asked.

Bruce stopped typing.

"In what way?"

Clint stared at his hands. "How can you know you won't kill Tony and Pepper?"

Bruce again took off his glasses and crossed his arms as he leaned against his desk.

"Because they trust me."

Clint shook his head, thinking of Natasha. "It's not enough."

"Why not?" Bruce asked.

Barton had no answer and Bruce let the question hang between them a little longer.

"Why do you think Loki still has your mind?"

Clint looked up. "I don't."

Bruce maintained his eye contact. "Then you can be trusted. Same as always."

"Clint, it was temporary. It's over. He had powers out of our grasp and he used them on you. -Did you know he tried to do that to Stark too? But the reactor in his chest blocked the scepter." He nodded for emphasis.

"You can ask him. He'd be happy to tell you all about it." Bruce added.

Clint rolled his eyes.

Banner didn't notice it, but Barton's hand instinctively moved to his chest where Loki had placed the scepter. His fingers pressed against the spot. No reactor, only flesh, weakness.

"The point is" Bruce continued. Loki could have and would have done that to any of us. He hurt you. There's no question there, but it's done. Loki did those things. Not you. He used you as a tool."

"But I shouldn't have let him!" Clint interjected vehemently. He stood up quickly. "I've gotta go." His voice instantly reverted to the usual unattached tone.

"Ok." Bruce said amiably.

When he was alone again, he found his mind from wandering back to his own predicament with "the other guy". That was not temporary. Bruce shook off the thought. He had been down that road enough times. Turning back to his computer he got to work again.


	10. Chapter 10

A few days passed and Bruce didn't see Barton. He knew if Clint wanted to talk, he'd come back. What Bruce didn't know was that Barton unconsciously decided, as soon as he'd walked out of the lab, to actively avoid him. An anger had flared up towards himself that had been previously buried. The embers bursted into flame as soon as Banner had gently blown on them with his words. Until now Clint hadn't allowed himself to actually think about Loki. He had only reacted to feelings over the events as they came and hoped they would ease. All the while considerations of Loki and his actions towards himself were held just under the surface. Clearly they hadn't drowned. Now thoughts had busted down the door and were running through his mind. He was angry. He was angry at Loki, angry at himself, angry that Natasha had ever talked to Banner and that he had listened to either one of them. That night after he and Bruce talked, he tried to sleep alone. It still wasn't working. Pride and anger kept him from going to Natasha's room and she felt no need to question that choice. So, for a few nights he just didn't sleep at all. Natasha tried to talk to him in the day time, but he either evaded her as only he could do or just didn't open his door in the morning. She didn't press him when he did the latter. After a few days he began to feel very unstable. His anger compounded with his fear of sleep and subsequent exhaustion gave him a light headed sensation and jumbled his thoughts.

 

OooOopOooOooO

 

It was predawn. Clint lay in bed just staring at the ceiling. He was thinking about Loki, the ghost that haunted him.

"Loki." he said out loud to nobody.

He listened. There was nothing, just him.

"Sir." Clint said, his whole being recoiling at the sound of the word. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He didn't expect his words to conjure anything in him, but they had.

He steeped for a moment in the implications of the word. Then, he broke the silence with one more word.

"F**ker." He spat it out bitterly and with it came a laugh that was almost a sob. He smiled sadly to himself, then rolled over. His face sunk into the pillow, and a very light sleep descended on him.

 

OooOooOooO

 

As he did on so many occasions, he stood atop the roof of Stark Tower overlooking the city. To be up high, to nest on a ledge was a physical experience that always provided mental relief. Each breeze he could decipher, each distant activity he could examine. Clint knew why he was called the hawk. His keen gaze swept across the sky, the city and eventually straight down at the street far below. Miniature vehicles and people moved back and forth, back and forth against the black and grey surfaces.

So easy. His mind whispered to him like a breeze.

Immediately he took a step back, realizing what he had just considered. His thoughts turned to Natasha's face. They were all each other had. She would never do it and he wouldn't either. Clint turned back and hopped down from the ledge and looked around him. Sleeping was out of the equation, so he left the roof and went to the weapons range. Nobody was there. It was probably a little after midnight. He began to fire arrows, hitting target after target. Even in his exhausted state his aim was perfect. But soon, as his mind began to expand beyond the task at hand, his aim faltered. The fear and anger began to cloud his focus. Arrow after arrow missed. Just barely, but for Clint Barton it was significant. He never missed.

"We talked about this." Natasha's voice was calm and very close behind him.

Another of his arrows flew and missed the target. It was only enough that one familiar with his skill would notice.

"What?" he snapped coldly.

"You're not responsible."

"Oh yeah?"

Another arrow flew from his bow.

"Is that why my arrows were in their chests? My shots weren't what blew the engines on the carrier? Is that why Banner almost crushed you to death? It wasn't me who tried to kill you? Because I wasn't responsible? I wasn't responsible for letting Loki put that spear on my heart? I f**king let him do that." All of this was said without looking at her. His voice was low, like a snarl.

What he was saying did not make sense. She knew it and so did he, but he needed to say it.

"I'll keep reminding you until you believe it."

"You know what, Natasha. Just back off." Clint fired off another shot.

"You know that I won't." She said calmly.

With lightening speed Clint drew another arrow which now pointed directly between her eyes. Behind it were his eyes, fiercely burning and full of fear. Natasha did not flinch, but looked right into his eyes, hers perfectly calm. A few seconds passed and Clint said nothing, his terrified eyes continuing to hold her gaze.

"Am I supposed to cry now?" She asked dryly.

He didn't smile. He didn't even blink. Natasha could hear the faint sound of the arrow shaft tapping against the bow.

"You're not afraid." He said. It was an observation more than an question.

"You're shaking, Clint."

Natasha placed her hands on his hands. Gently she removed the bow and the arrow from his hands and let them fall, clattering onto the floor. Clint stood, his arms hanging at his sides. His expression had taken an aimless appearance. Natasha then kissed his cheek and left him standing there without another word.

 

OooOooOooOooO

 

There was a knock on her door. It was 3:20 am. Natasha knew it was Clint. He appeared from around the door. Neither of them said anything. She simply moved to make space for him in her bed. He padded over in silence and climbed in. Barton curled himself up protectively. She wrapped her soft hand around one of his. "It's ok." Was all she said. Beside her, listening to his breathing and hers, blessed sleep finally descended on him.


	11. Chapter 11

The very next day Clint sought out Dr. Banner again. Natasha had been so right in her instincts. Clint needed to talk. Being alone and trying to stomach all the pain and anger, even for a few days, only made things worse. That had now been proven to him. He was more miserable now than he had been before. So, despite the anger, or because of it, Clint headed to Bruce's floor. Jarvis had informed him, upon his request, that Banner was at home.

Clint got off the elevator, intending to head for the lab. When the door opened, though, Clint looked to find Bruce sitting comfortably on one of the couches, drinking tea and reading a paper.

Bruce looked up and smiled warmly. "Hi Clint."

"Uh, Hi." Clint said a bit awkwardly. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Bruce gave a good natured shrug. "Well, I live here."

Clint's mouth curved into a small smile. "Yeah. Well I didn't know you ever left your lab."

Bruce laughed. "Fair enough."

Clint came further into the room. "Mind if I sit?"

"Of course not. Want some tea or anything?" Bruce put his paper down.

Clint shook his head as he took a perch on the back of an easy chair closest to a window. "Nah, I'm ok."

"Alright." Bruce relaxed again against the couch. He couldn't help but notice that Clint had no qualms in putting his boots on somebody else's chair cushions. That actually made him feel at ease. He could feel comfortable with this if Barton could.

"Look," Clint said. "I'm sorry about before... Just ditching like that."

Bruce waved a hand. "Forget it. I understand. I do."

Barton nodded and looked around a bit awkwardly, but didn't say any more. His gaze landed against the window and he drank in the view of New York. Bruce went back to his paper, thinking maybe Barton just wanted company. But, it felt too awkward so he took off his glasses and turned again to Barton. "Did you need to talk?... or want to?" He asked.

Clint's thoughtful eyes flicked over to Banner and he nodded.

"Whenever you want." Bruce assured him, and just as he picked up his paper again, Barton spoke.

"The hulk is always there."

That didn't sound like a question and Bruce didn't know if it required a response. Clint continued though. "My situation... with Loki. You said it was temporary, and it was. I know he's gone. I mean I know it in my mind. I just-. ...He's not gone." Clint didn't look at Bruce's eyes or seek a sign that he understood this.

Bruce nodded soberly. "Yeah."

"You should let him out some times."

Bruce felt a bit confused. He wasn't quite following Clint's train of thought.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You told me that I didn't want anybody to see me as a monster, like I do. You said that because you get it. I get that."

Bruce nodded, not sure how this related.

"Don't you get tired? Holding him back all the time."

Nobody had ever asked him that. He hadn't even asked himself. Controlling the other guy was just something he had to do. It was never a question. But, Clint just made it one.

Bruce uncrossed one leg from over the other and leaned forward on the couch. His fingers clasped lightly together and his brow furrowed. He let out a slightly uncomfortable laugh. "I, uh. I hadn't really thought about it."

Clint's greyish eyes were now piercing him. Bruce knew he was forming no judgement, it's just the way he looked at everything. That much he'd learned in the short time he'd known Clint Barton.

"The last couple of days, I tried to put this crap away again" He gestured vaguely at his own chest. "But, Tasha's was right to talk to you. I didn't want to do this, but it helps. I mean I can touch it now. ...Maybe you need to get it out too."

Bruce looked at him. He suddenly felt slightly annoyed.

"People would get hurt, Barton."

Clint nodded with an appraising look.

"Couldn't you go someplace secluded?"

Bruce leaned back again. Another revelation. This man was practical.

"Yeah. I guess I could."

"Should bring a camera." Clint offered.

Bruce couldn't tell if he was joking and Barton's face betrayed nothing. He still didn't know him that well and what he did know was usually in pain.

"What made you bring up the Hul-, the other guy?"

Barton shrugged like a disinterested teenager. "Nothin' really. I just thought of it when I sat down."

"You're kind of reminding me of Tony."

Barton sighed and rolled his eyes. "I hope not."

"Well" Bruce said "I am surprised he hasn't thought to suggest that. You may have noticed how eager he is for me to 'let off a little steam'." The last part he said while making quotes with his fingers.

"Yeah. I don't really see too much of him."

"I can see how he could be a little overwhelming."

"Definitely, but I mean- I don't really talk to anybody else." He looked away as if ashamed of his words. "Just Natasha... and you."

Bruce tilted his head, getting a look at Clint's sad eyes. Clint liked to hide up high, but he did want to be on the team. There was just so much crap right now, like he said, that he could barely maintain his own company.

"You know," Bruce ventured "Pepper and Tony have been putting on weekly team dinners upstairs. It's a nice time. Everybody would be happy to see you. Even Rogers comes." It was no secret that there was one other team member struggling with seclusion. Clint knew about the dinners, but he just couldn't bring himself to get out in the open like that. He was still not at work and he felt ashamed of it, of his darkness. Natasha didn't mention him when she attended and nobody dared to ask.

"I'll think about it." Clint offered noncomittally. Then asked "Do you shoot?"

"Do I shoot?"

"Yeah. You know, guns? Arrows? Do you shoot?"

"I, uh. Well..." Bruce gave a semi-bashful look and shrugged "Don't really need to."

A short round of soft laughter came from Clint. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"Why do you ask?"

"Wanted to know if you ever wanted to come down to the range."

Bruce considered it. "Sure. That would be good."

"Well, ok." Clint said, getting off the chair. "Then I'll see ya."

Clint came over to Bruce's seat and offered a hand. Banner stood up and took it. The two men exchanged a brief, firm handshake.

Then Clint turned and headed for the elevator without another word.

Bruce sat back down and smiled.

That was it then. He'd earned Barton's trust. Banner never particularly wanted, expected or sought Clint Barton's trust, but now that he knew he had it, it felt good.


	12. Chapter 12

This one didn't wake Natasha. Clint awoke slowly, as if his mind was gradually wrestling Loki to the mat. It was unlike the usual violence of flight. His eyes opened and his fists were clenched tighter than ever. The amount of tension in his body was a surprise and he could not lay there any longer. Quietly, he moved off of the bed so as not to wake Natasha. There was probably no other soul on earth who could accomplish this task.

Clint took a perch on the window sill, but the city view from above held no appeal for him. He tried to sit still, but he couldn't manage it. If he didn't leave the room, he knew he would end up waking Natasha.

Clint slipped out of her room. He wore his sweats and a grey sleeveless shirt. His feet were bare. Thankfully the gym was just down the hall. He was really liking the situation. Tony had quickly finalized and put into place the plans for a training facility on their floor. It was like being at SHIELD's facilities but he didn't have to share it, or worry about rookies gaping at him as he worked. Natasha shared this place with him, but Steve had been coming every so often. He too liked the privacy and Natasha, shrewd as she was, offered the space to him. She could see how sharing Tony's gym was more exhausting than relaxing for Captain Rogers. When he was there, he and Clint didn't talk to each other. Both men liked that just fine.

Clint set up a punching bag and went to work at it. He was not all power like Steve was at the bag. Barton was an acrobat and he struck with grace and ferocious precision. Right now, though, all of the graceful violence he possessed was gone. He had nothing but burning rage and he didn't just punch it. He kicked it, slammed elbows into it, threw his whole self at it. Angry exhaustion started creep all over him until he was only slamming his fists against the bag over and over until he allowed himself to simply collapse to the floor. Then he sat there, just staring at the grains in the wood flooring. His body felt a little calmer now. There was no cause to get up so he stayed put. It wasn't long, though, before a small and gentle hand was on his shoulder. He looked to his right. Natasha was sitting cross legged beside him. "Hi." She said and rubbed a few circles on his back.

"Hi." he said.

The pair didn't need words to know that some things were ok. After years of total loyalty and trust they had established between them, Clint knew when she was making herself available and she knew the same about him. Opening his palms on the wood floor behind him, he slid forward. He lay down, resting his head on Natasha's lap. She smiled ever so slightly. It never did get old for her to be trusted like this. After spending such a large part of her life as some one, or worse, something, never to be trusted, Natasha never took this for granted. Her fingers found their way to his hair and she gently brushed the hair along his forehead. Clint closed his eyes. This was the peace of mind he was looking for. After a while, when her hands stopped moving and simply rested, folded together, on his head, Clint broke the silence.

"I'd be dead without you."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"You got through a lot long before you ever met me."

"This is different."

She knew that.

"I wouldn't have had anybody. ...Would've jumped off that roof weeks ago."

Natasha's eyes closed. She knew that too.

"But I'm here." She said. "And that's because of you."

A smile broke out on his face.

"Fury was so mad."

"Yes. I know. He had me in solitary for a week before he started talking to me."

"That was his condition. Couldn't change his mind." Clint said. Then he did a spot on imitation of the director. "You bring a dangerous, skinny little motherf**ker into my facility and think you can make requests. Get outta here, Barton. I don't want to see your face!"

The pair of them had laughed about this many times. But it was theirs, and they liked to share it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does not take place the morning after the last chapter. It's a different day.

Clint sat up and rubbed his eyes. The sun was up and it shined in a very friendly way all across the room. He felt good. An unnecessarily loud yawn escaped him as he looked around. It was a surprise that he had not at first noticed Natasha sitting in bed right beside him, totally silent. She was writing. What she wrote, he would never ask and she would never tell him. He smiled to himself.

"Hi." She said. She was still writing.

"Morning." Clint said, and lay back down. There was no cause to get up. He put his hands under his head and breathed a contented sigh. Clint liked this. He liked just being with Natasha, not even doing anything. It was right. That's all it was. Right.

"You didn't wake up last night." She said, this time she looked up and put her pen and book aside.

Clint thought for a second and realized she was right.

He looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there, but Clint was smiling at it.

"Feel like I've just had my first success in potty training."

Natasha couldn't suppress a snort of laughter.

"Come on. It's not that pathetic."

"Yes it is." He said, the humor gone as quick as it had come. "...Has Fury fired me yet?"

"No."

"You talked to him?"

"No. And he won't fire you. You're too valuable, and besides" she added with no shortage of amusement. "you're one of The Avengers now."

Clint ignored that last comment. "He talked to you?"

"Yes."

"What did he say."

"He made it clear that he's not stupid. That it's clear by your total disappearance from SHIELD since the battle, that you needed a lot more time than he expected. Whether he agrees or not, he understands."

"Does he?"

"Well, he assumes you must be having symptoms of PTSD. Why else would you not show up?"

Clint didn't like that classification, but he didn't say anything. Simply by saying it, Natasha made it indisputable. And, despite his distaste for the label, the "weakness", he could not deny it.

"How?" he asked.

"When have you ever done this, Clint?"

"Sometime probably." He shrugged.

Natasha humored his bravado. "You've been tortured many many times, been beaten, confined, blown up, shot, stabbed, betrayed, and you've always gotten right back to it. This is different. He can see that."

"Even with one eye." Clint mused.

Natasha punched him in the shoulder. "You're an idiot."

"So I've heard." He said, his mouth turning upwards into a little smile.

"Anyway, he said take the time you need."

"Way past that point." Clint said dryly.

"Are you coming to eat with us tonight?" She asked, catching him slightly off guard. When Natasha was finished with a subject, she was finished. "It won't kill you."

Clint sighed. He'd avoided this so many times. A little part of him wanted to go and it wasn't for Natasha's sake. Natasha didn't need him there. She wanted Clint to come for himself, not for her. Clint found that he wanted to show Bruce that he was winning, that Loki was losing. Slowly he nodded his head. "Yeah. I'll come."

She smiled. Relief flooded her expression.

"I agreed to be on this team. Haven't joined it yet." He said shaking his head.

"They understand, Clint."

He looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they understand that Loki really screwed you up. They don't think you're just being aloof."

"They talk about me?" Clint asked, eying her.

"They've mentioned you once or twice." She said indifferently. "Tony practically drools over what you did during the battle. Though, he wouldn't tell you that. And you know, Cap has that noble sadness over you."

Clint chuckled. He kind of liked that idea. Then he looked up absently. "Wonder if Thor would ever let me get my hands on his brother."

"Somehow I don't see that happening."

"Yeah." Clint said, his focus returning to the room he was in. "Guess not."

. . . . . . . . .

 

Natasha exited the elevator to what had become standard greetings from Tony, Bruce, & Steve. Eyes widened and smiles appeared in the room when Clint followed behind her.

"Barton! You made it!" Tony pushed himself off the counter he'd been leaning against and walked over.

"Stark." He said simply, shaking the offered hand. Steve stood from his stool by the same counter and offered his hand as well "Agent Barton. Glad you could make it."

"Thanks." Clint said stiffly.

"Hi Clint." Bruce waved from where was seated comfortably at the table with a glass of ice water in his hand. He was a safe distance away from whatever conversation had been taking place between Tony and Steve. Clint nodded back to him and immediately went to sit down beside him. Bruce offered a hand and Clint took it. "Glad you decided to come." He said quietly, but the others weren't listening anyway. Tony had gone back to arguing something with Steve again. Stark, however indelicate he could be, was no fool. He would not overwhelm Barton and scare away the novelty of the man's presence so quickly. And, besides, Banner had asked him that when Clint did eventually show up, he give him space. Tony obeyed. Steve, on the other hand, didn't need to be told.

Pepper, who had not been in the room when they arrived, came up behind and put an hand on Clint's shoulder. Clint turned abruptly. "Long time no see." She said kindly.  
"Oh. Hi, Pepper." Clint said, collecting himself, and stood up. He offered a hand, but she surprised him with a quick hug. "Thanks for joining us." Clint was caught off guard with the hug, but wasn't bothered. He had no idea how in desperate need of positive attention he was.

"Would you like a drink?" She asked him.

"Water. Please."

Pepper turned. "Tony."

"Yes, dear?"

"Clint would like a glass of water."

Tony, ever observant, raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you just offer?"

"Yes. I've offered him your services."

Tony rolled his eyes affectionately and turned his attentions toward Clint. "Water. Really? Come on, man. Have a drink!"

Clint didn't have to think twice. "A beer. Please."

"That's the spirit!" Tony said as he bent down to a small fridge under the counter. The beer fridge was a permanent fixture now. Tony was a liquor man himself, but Steve liked beer and Bruce would have one sometimes. Natasha stuck to vodka, if she drank at all, and Pepper preferred wine. And Thor, when he was around, would drink anything that was placed in front of him.

Tony put a crisp bottle on the counter. "Glass or bottle?"

"Bottle's fine." Clint said. Tony pried off the cap and brought the beer over to Clint.

"Thanks." He said with a nod.

Jarvis' voice suddenly sounded through the room. "Sir, the food has arrived."

"Wonderful." Tony exclaimed. "Be right back." He said to the group and went to the elevator. Tony preferred to go down rather than allow a stranger into the inner sanctum of Stark Tower.

Nobody was cooking tonight, which explained Bruce's relaxation at the table. Chinese take out had been ordered. A lot of chinese take out.

Dinner was not uncomfortable. Clint did a lot of listening (to Tony mostly), but engaged a little too. He actually enjoyed himself. Tony was on his best behavior and didn't touch on any sensitive subjects. Steve did his best to be polite and engage Clint. The most fascinating thing to Clint was the interactions between Natasha and the other four. He had missed all of this. She was comfortable with them and that was truly a gift for him to witness.

Pepper was the only other woman, and it seemed that she and Natasha had established something of a friendship. Conversation between them was so normal that Clint felt confused. Not in a bad way. Just confused.

Half way through dinner, Clint really believed he could never tire of watching Natasha verbally disarm Tony Stark. Whereas Steve became a wall which Tony bounced off of, Natasha was more of a sponge, absorbing his sass and quick wit and turning it on its head. He often didn't know what to do with that. Pepper found it hilarious.

Bruce and Steve were perfectly amicable with each other. Clint could see that while Steve respected Tony, Bruce set him far more at ease and they just simply got along. Tony and Bruce seemed to have known each other forever. No outsider could ever guess that they friendship was just barely months, old.

There was still tension between Natasha and Bruce, but Clint was certain he was the only person who picked up on it. He doubted Bruce realized she still harbored some fear towards him. Natasha still carried that experience on the carrier and Clint was not the only one who woke from nightmares.

Steve and Natasha's interaction was by far the most interesting to him. There could not be two more opposite people on the planet. Yet, when they spoke there was nothing but respect. Sarcasm never seemed to move between the two of them. It wasn't necessary. The strangest thing was a good natured protectiveness toward each other, almost like siblings. Clint kept noticing it in the small things, their brief exchanges, and especially when Tony was antagonizing one of them.

The most surprising thing about all of this was that Clint was welcome in it.

. . . . . . . . .

"Headin' out now Banner?" Tony asked as he leaned back in his chair. Bruce had just placed his plate in the sink.

"Yeah," He said. "I'll see you guys maybe the day after tomorrow."

"Ok. Be safe, honey." Tony said mockingly.

"Shut up, Tony." Bruce said as the elevator doors closed. When Bruce had gone, Tony turned to Clint. "Not a bad suggestion, Barton. It keeps him in good spirits."

"What does?" He asked as he got up to take his plate to the sink as well.

"Going to the woods, or wherever he goes." Tony said as if the whole world knew this fact. "For the big guy."

"Oh." Clint said. Bruce hadn't told him he'd taken him up on that. Then again, Clint didn't ask.

"Did he tell you he's working on a tranquilizer?" Tony asked nonchalantly, but secretly very pleased that this too could be new information.

Clint shook his head.

"I think it's totally unnecessary. He doesn't trust me to do what's necessary." Tony put up dramatic quotes for the word 'necessary'. "Though I did agree to design the arrow for it."

"He wants me to carry it?" Clint had forgotten that Bruce existed outside of the moments in which he saw him. He and Tony worked in labs and had a friendship.

"Well, the arrow's not for Steve, Legolas."

Steve could see the slight confusion in Clint's eyes and he offered clarification."Eventually we'll be out there as a team again and Bruce just wants us to be safe. He says it's only in case of a real jam."

"Pff, we are safe." Tony said. "Anyway, he probably didn't want to tell you about it 'til he had the final product. Haven't been any real successes yet, but he'll get there. Probably have it figured out by now if I were helping. But I won't." Tony seemed proud of that last fact.

Pepper and Natasha exchanged looks. Steve just looked disapproving.

"How many times has he gone to let out the hulk?" Clint asked, completely disregarding talk of a tranq. He wasn't concerned. Bruce could do what he wanted with the Hulk.

"This is only his second time." Tony said. "He wanted to keep it a secret, but you know..."

"Stark wouldn't let the man have his dignity." Steve offered with affectionate irritation.

"Oh come on. He wanted to tell me."

"Right." Pepper chimed in.

"Hey!" Tony defended. "The lab is sacred space. We can talk about going green in the woods... and stuff?"

Steve just laughed and Natasha rolled her eyes.

. . . . . . . .

That night they lay side by side just looking at the ceiling.

"Was that so bad?"

"No, it wasn't. ...It's stupid, but I really thought they'd treat me like a side show act."

"Why?"

"Because I've been hiding."

"Clint, Banner turns into a green monster, Tony's got a glowing light in his chest, and Rogers is an octogenarian. I think they're all past that kind of thing."

Clint laughed. She certainly had a point.

"Bruce is a good man." She added quietly. "He's been good to you."

Clint was a little confused as to that musing, but then realized she still needed reasons not to be afraid of Banner.

"He's a friend." Clint nodded.

He looked over to her. She was just looking up, nothing more. "Goodnight, Tasha."

"Goodnight, Clint. I'll be gone all week." She said as she turned over onto her side, but she rested her fingers on his arm.

Clint closed his eyes.

"Ok."


	14. Chapter 14

Barton could not stop laughing.

Each newly drawn arrow flopped a few feet forward or sprung out of the bow. Tears came to Clint's eyes when Bruce finally picked up one of the fallen arrows and threw it at the target. It didn't even make it half way there. Clint managed through heaving laughter to ask "Ready for that pistol now?"

Bruce turned around. His face was red with embarrassment and his eyes bright with amusement. "Yeah." He said as he threw up his hands in surrender. "I think so."

Clint hopped off the cabinet he'd been watching Bruce fail from. He put the pistol in Bruce's hand and took back his bow. "Ah" Bruce voiced with feigned relief as he grapsed the pistol in his hand. "Modern weapon for a modern man."

"Whatever you say, Doc." Clint said, picking up one of the arrows. When he stood, he looked Bruce straight in the eye. He drew back an arrow and fired it at the target he was not looking at. It hit directly where the heart of a man ought to be.

Bruce just shook his head.

"And I thought you'd never sink to Tony's level."

Clint smirked. "Not in front of him."

"Yeah, well" Bruce said. "I'd show off to, but you know how it is."

"Ooo! Banner, I didn't think you'd sink to Tony's level."

Bruce laughed. "Not in front of him."

Clint smiled, then bent to gather the rest of the scattered arrows. When they were all in the quiver he moved to the next lane and began shooting with perfection.

Bruce, who really didn't care about firing the gun, just watched. What barton could do really was mezmerizing. He walked away for a moment, grabbed a metal stool, then returned to observe Clint's marksmanship. Since the man's weapon of choice was all but silent, Bruce was free to speak. "Do you ever cross paths with Tony?"

"Not really."

Bruce didn't press the issue. He'd leave the "you should let them in your life" stuff to Natasha. After all she'd gotten him to dinner the night before and Clint did things on his time.

"Metal cylinder in the chest would've been helpful." Clint muttered unexpectedly as he loosed another arrow.

"Clint." Bruce couldn't keep the disapproval out of his tone.

"I shouldn't have let him get that close to me." Bruce was a little surprised by how obviously eager Clint was to get this off his chest some more.

"What would you have done?" Bruce asked.

"I would've-"

"Fought him?"

"Yeah." Clint said slowly.

"So you expected a fight?" Bruce's questions came in quick succession.

"Yeah, the guy came at me with a weapon."

"Did you shoot him?"

"He grabbed my gun hand."

"Were you about to fight hand to hand?"

"Well, yeah."

"Would you have put distance between you and him if you were planning on fighting?"

"No."

"Did you know he could do anything besides shoot with that scepter?"

"No."

"Would you have done the same thing if anyone else ran toward you with a spear?"

"Yes."

Bruce sat back. "Yeah." He said with a nod. "Then it was definitely all your fault."

Clint shook his head, but couldn't hide the smile forming on his lips.

"Yeah, ok. I get it." Clint conceded.

"I hope so." Bruce said. "It wasn't your fault."

Clint lowered his bow and removed the quivered. He went back over the the cabinet and hopped on top of it again. His head rested against the wall. He sighed. "Whatever that means."

Bruce ignored that remark. He knew, or at least he hoped, that eventually Clint would believe it.

"When he put it to your chest what did you think?" Bruce asked quietly.

Clint looked down. This conversation had taken a new turn. "I didn't think anything. It was just my breath going out of me. And ice."

"Ice?"

Clint smirked bitterly. "Yeah. Ice."

Clint wrung his hands for a brief, brief moment. "I don't think I felt warmth in my body until we ate that night."

Bruce was kind of amazed. Nobody had ever talked about it or mentioned the fact that Clint had come out of a version of comatose and thrown himself into a battle. The guy didn't have armor or power, or, in his own strange case, total invincibility. He just got up and went at it. Here he was, still fighting long after the battle was over. Bruce decided to offer Clint what small gift he had; a compliment.

"You did really well that day, Clint."

Clint cocked his head. A tiny, slightly confused smile crept to his face.

"Thanks."

Banner felt silly elaborating. He didn't want to sound like he was offering pity and he didn't want to sound like some kind of a fan. Bruce meant it. "Really. By all rights you should have gone to bed, but you came through for us."

Barton couldn't surpress the laugh that came.

"I had to help kick his ass."

Then he added, but without the good humor. "I owed that much to myself."

Bruce nodded.

Clint restes his head against the wall again and stared up at the ceiling.

"I don't know how to get him out."

"...He is out, Clint."

"Of my dreams." Clint said adamantly. He began to nervously fidget with his hands again. "He makes me rip her apart and I can't stop it... I remember trying to kill her. I remember looking in her eyes and wanting her dead." Bruce didn't speak. "How could he make me hate her?" Clint's eyes squinted ever so slightly, the subtlest sign of what kind of hell he was holding inside his mind.

"Because it was him." Bruce said. "He hated her."

"But I did it!" His eyes pleaded. For what, Bruce wasn't sure. "I shot those men. I blew the engines, I tried to kill my best friend. And Coulson-" Clint looked away.

Bruce just waited. Clint let out a shaky sigh. "No matter what anybody says, my hands did the work. My skills, my knowledge... How was it not me?"

"It was you, Clint." Bruce said calmly. "The difference is, you didn't choose it. He exploited you."

Clint said nothing. He blew out another sigh.

Barton didn't seem to be ready to bolt like he often did after heavy words, so Bruce gently continued.

"Has anything like this ever happened to you before? I mean you and Natasha have seen some crazy things right? Working for SHIELD and all."

Barton nodded. "Sure. We've been all over the place, together and on our own."

Bruce chose his words carefully. "But has anybody ever hurt you like this?"

"I've been injured. Tortured ...a lot. Some real shit. But I could handle that. I was there, I was in control, I chose to take it. But this-. He just..."

"Used you." Bruce ventured.

Clint closed his eyes and nodded. "I didn't even have a chance to fight. ...I told Tasha. He pulled me out. I don't know how, but I just-"

He stopped. Clint was back to this place again. There was no explaining it. It just was what it was. How did a man put in to words an experience that defied anything that made sense to him.

Clint tried to brush off his mounting frustration.

"F**kin' Loki, right." He said looking back at Bruce with a forced, humorless laugh.

This caught Bruce off guard. These spies and their false faces.

"Yeah." He said, offering Barton a weak smile in agreement. "Right."


	15. Chapter 15

Exploited.

Clint did not like that word. He didn't like it at all. It only made him think of molested children and victims of rape, and he didn't want to be that.  
But, was he? Was he a victim? Was he just like those he'd found in back rooms, in cars, basements? When the dust had settled and the targets taken out, so often what was left their wake were those they'd exploited.

No. 

He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. A cool breeze brushed across his face. Autumn had come to New York City. Clint hid what he could of his face behind the high collar on his coat. It was dusk and he was alone, walking along the river.

Clint tried to shake train of thought from his mind. He was not going to think about that now. He needed to work. Turning from the river, Clint headed back toward the tower.

The thoughts followed him all the way. It was like the wind whispered "victim" to him, brushed "weakness" through his hair, and stung his eyes with "should've fought". It made Clint increasingly angry as he went along.

Despite having chosen to not think about it, Clint was still thinking about it when he arrived home. He took it to the gym and practically attacked the punching bag. Without pause, he worked tirelessly to punish it for an hour. It didn't trouble him to admit he pictured Loki as he pounded the punching bag over and over again. For once Clint let himself imagine punching the grin off that pale face. Blood flowed freely across his imagination.

Steve appeared in the gym right around the time Clint stepped back from the bag. He gave a nod to Clint who responded in kind. Silently he hooked a new bag to a bar and began his own silent attack. Clint went to the wall and sat down. He breathed steadily and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. In perfect silence he watched Steve's arms drive into the canvas. Absently he wondered how much force was behind those punches. Steve was obviously not holding back and everybody knew that Steve Rogers never used only one bag by the time he was finished. It was then that Clint was struck with an idea.

"Captain." He said suddenly.

Steve stopped short of hitting the bag again. His head lifted as he blew out a long breath.

"Yeah?" He wasn't annoyed, but Barton had never addressed him here outside of a hello.

"Want to spar?"

Steve eyed him.

"You mean, will I let you practice on me?"

Clint shrugged. "However you want to look at it." His smile was barely concealed. They both knew how much Steve would need to consciously hold back in order to not injure Barton.

Steve shrugged in resignation. "Why not?"

"Great." Clint said and stood up with a slight bounce.

"You might not have to hold back. You'd have to hit me for that."

"We'll see how fast you are, Barton." Steve responded with a good natured shake of his head.

They went over to the mat.

"Ready when you are." Steve said.

"You first."

Steve nodded and moved forward deliberately. He learned immediately just how fast Clint was, but Steve was by no means slow. They each landed a decent number of shots to the body. Clint had to take one opportunity to get his breath back once Steve had accidently knocked the wind out of him.

"Sorry, Clint."

Clint waved a hand from where he was hunched over. "No worries." He gasped.

Once recovered they went back at it. Steve was returning as much as Barton was giving, although he didn't use full force. That was reserved for aliens, machines, and Thor. At least that was the list so far.

Steve began to notice Barton's aggression increasing. It was subtle at first, but grew as Clint unconsciously became aware that he really wasn't in any danger of actually hurting Steve. He began to let loose on the captain, getting more and more lost in his own thought. He didn't even notice that Steve started to lessen his resistance, letting himself take the beating. The captain recognized a fire in Clint's eyes. He could see the pain. Having looked at his own eyes in the mirror, he was very familiar with it. Steve let it get to the point where he offered only defense and returned nothing. Clint was totally in his own world now and was totally unaware that sparring had ceased all together. Steve had allowed himself to be the punching bag.

As Clint's attack became sloppier Steve decided to end it. Finally he caught Clint's fist just before it connected with his own body. Clint's eyes shot to Steve's. Suddenly he wasn't lost in his own mind anymore.

They held each other's gaze for a moment. Steve knew Clint had been in another place and didn't want to startle him.

"It's alright, Clint." Steve reassured.

Immediately Clint twisted his arm from the gentle grasp and turned to go.

"Barton." Steve said after him.

Clint made himself stop his retreat and turn around.

"What?"

Steve didn't have anything to say. He just didn't want to see Clint run like that.

They both stood there saying nothing for a moment.

"I'm sorry." Clint finally said.

"Please don't be sorry." Steve said adamantly. "I'm sorry we didn't free you before he made you do those things for him."

Clint forced himself not to look away. Steve's words got under his skin where he didn't want them to go.

"Yeah." He said and looked down. "Thanks."

"It wasn't right." Steve offered. "The coward couldn't do his own work."

Clint looked back up at Steve. Something inside him was crying out to be expressed but he couldn't do it. He really was grateful for what the man was saying, but he couldn't communicate it. He couldn't let Steve see under the surface. Natasha could see it all and Bruce could see some, but Clint didn't think he could let anybody else that close. At least not now anyway and Steve's words had just struck too close.

He gave a short nod and left Steve standing in the gym.

Clint went immediately to the top of the tower. He didn't bother to change or put on something warmer. This time he didn't take up watch on the ledge, but instead huddled against a wall. His knees were drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. The wind chilled the sweat on his bare arms. It was a matter of seconds before he began shivering. This is where he wanted to be though. Clint bowed his head low and let his whole body chill down, but it was his mind he wanted to freeze.

"Didn't I fight that f**ker?" He thought.

The chill of the air and the shivering that was only getting deeper served only to bring Loki closer to his thoughts.

Ice.

Clint took in deep breaths just trying to calm himself.

He heard a sudden gust of cold wind bellow "exploited", and Clint's head snapped back up. He squinted into the darkness and then he screamed at it.

"F**k you! F**k you!"

In one sudden motion he was on his feet and running back into the building.

There was nothing else for him to do. He needed to do violence to what he felt. Back into the gym quickly. He didn't care that Steve was still there. It didn't matter. Back to the punching bag. His fists connected with it. Again and again. Long after Steve had left him to his battle, he was still pummeling the bag.

When the sun rose Clint was curled up and asleep beneath the bag.

Not even he could say he hadn't fought.


	16. Chapter 16

The nightmares had ebbed a little. In the short time since Natasha went away they had spared him their presence somewhat and were less intense when they did come. Clint was grateful for that. Right now, however, he hadn't been so lucky. The nightmare that engulfed him was awful. It was just like all the others, but worse. Something about it. In this dream he had not just obeyed and then been horrified at what he'd done. No, in this one he tried to stop it as it happened. Loki directed each motion, each action and all the while Clint raged and cried out from within his trapped self, but he could not stop what he was doing. Clint begged Loki to stop, to release his hand, but each destructive choice Loki made for him was accompanied by soft, soulless laughter.

His own screams jarred him from sleep. Clint would've given anything for Natasha to be beside him, gripping his hand. As he breathed heavily, trying to settle himself, he just said her name. Her name was a balm.

"Natasha." He breathed into the darkness. "Natasha." And his breathing began to slow.

She was alive. Not there with him, but somewhere. She would come back.

It had only been a dream.

 

././././././.

 

Tony leaned in close to the piece of armor. His eyes focused intensely on what he was doing. Beside him on the table lay a collection of tools. Every now and again he reached for a new tool and continued on. All the while he had been listening to Bruce speaking behind him. Bruce had abandoned his own work some time ago, giving his attention fully over to what he was trying to tell Tony. His cooling mug of tea was clasped in one of his hand while he gesticulated with the other as he spoke. So far Tony had responded only with hums to say that he understood, or small words of agreement.

"...He still thinks it's his fault." Bruce finished saying.

Bruce saw no problem with trusting Tony with this information. Discussing Clint's quandary with Stark did not qualify as a betrayal or an abuse of Clint's trust. Although Tony was not Clint's trusted friend, he was Bruce's, and Clint now trusted Bruce. Tony was a new set of eyes, a new perspective. Besides, Bruce did not get into detail. He only explained the big picture. Barton had become a friend. They were getting to know one another. He had let Bruce into his life and Bruce now realized he'd do anything to help the guy through this.

"I'll bet you the reactor in my chest that he doesn't think that." Tony said, his eyes still focused on the task at hand.

"What are you talking about? He's said it a hundred times."

"I'm sure he has. But I can promise you bird boy knows the truth of the matter perfectly. He's just still feelin' it too close. He'll get there."

Bruce sighed. He'd known it would take time. It was just so easy to forget that.

Tony smiled to himself. "Really, Banner. You of all people."

"What?"

"You know what."

"It's different, Tony and you know it."

Tony shook his head. "It's the same damn thing. Don't make me throw a wrench at your thick head."

Bruce ran his hands over his face. "We're not talking about me!"

"Fine, but you're still being an ass."

"Ok. I'm an ass. Can we move on."

Tony shrugged. It really did bother him when Bruce wouldn't let himself off the hook for the Hulks past actions and imagined future actions.

"Continue." He said begrudgingly.

Bruce just shrugged as his thoughts turned back to Barton.

"How does a guy forgive himself for something he didn't do?" he asked.

Without a word Tony grabbed a wrench and threw it. Unlike his threat promised, it was thrown far away from Bruce. It bounced off a wall and clattered to the floor.

"Ok I get it, Tony." Bruce sighed.

"Do you? Because this stuff with Barton... Look in the mirror man."

Bruce sighed again. This was circular, but he was gonna say it for both their sakes. "You said I had to give him time, right?"

"Yes." Tony nodded adamantly. "You can't force it."

Bruce didn't respond. He only looked pointedly at Tony. For no other reason than satisfying his own stubbornness, Tony took a moment to stare back defiantly.

Then he threw his hands up in surrender. "Ok. Ok, I get it too."

"Thank you." Bruce said evenly.

Tony's expression softened slightly and he did look a bit guilty. "Sorry."

"Don't be. A lot's changed for me. And a lot of that's because you're... like that."

"Because I throw things?"

"I'm not gonna stroke your ego, Tony. You've heard me say it."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for nothing." Tony rolled his eyes. Bruce was deeply grateful to Tony and his rashness. And in turn, Tony was beyond grateful for Bruce's friendship and steadiness of character. No expounding was needed.

Tony got quiet again and looked down at the tools on the table. His eyes betrayed the thoughts moving behind them. Then he looked back up at Bruce.

"What helps?"

"Helps what?"

"What helps you feel... normal? Around here?"

"Honestly?"

"No. Please make up some bullsh*t. Yes! Honestly!"

"...You do."

"How?"

"I told you, I'm not stroking your ego."

"I'm talking about Barton!"

Bruce hadn't thought he'd ever get Tony to address that subject at this point.

"Fine." Bruce conceded. "No matter what I think, I know you trust me and I know you don't condemn the other guy. That helps."

"Does Clint know that?"

"Sure."

"Have you told him?"

"I'm not sure."

"Has anybody?"

"I could never guess what words pass between he and Romanoff." Bruce said.

"Forget Romanoff. They've got their own thing. You do it." Tony affirmed. "He might need it."

Bruce looked at Tony. Tony raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Not bad. That's all."

"You're welcome." Tony smiled self satisfactorily.

Bruce shook his head with a good humored grin. "Thank you, Tony." Then he turned his attention to the ceiling.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Dr. Banner?"

"Where is Agent Barton right now?"

"Agent Barton is currently in his gym."

"You're gonna talk to him now?" Tony asked, a little surprised.

Bruce shrugged as he rose to leave. "No point in delaying it."

Tony made an approving face.

He had no reason to disagree.

. . . . . . . . . .

Banner came to the door of the gym. Just as Jarvis had said, Clint was there. Steve was there too. They stood back to back and decently far away from each other, both of them having private fights with their own punching bags.

Bruce had planned to find Clint alone, but somehow Steve's presence felt right and he banked on Clint being ok with that. This was the first time, since Natasha's request, that Bruce reached out to Clint. He wasn't waiting for Clint to come to him this time, not when he had something he needed to say. All of the sudden, though, he didn't feel the same confidence as when he was talking to Tony. Bruce felt meddlesome.

"Barton." He said, ignoring the feeling and walking into the room.

Both Barton and Rogers stopped and turned to him.

Clint wiped sweat from his face.

"Dr. Banner." Steve said simply and gave a nod.

"Hi Steve. ...Clint, I wanted to talk to you."

"Here?" He asked, glancing over at Steve.

"Yeah." Bruce said. "It's ok."

Steve's deep blue eyes moved from one man to the other. He knew this was the tip of an iceberg.

"I know I've been saying it's not your fault and I'm sure Natasha's told you that too. And it wasn't your fault. But maybe you need to know more."

"What are you talking about, Bruce?" Clint felt slightly flustered. Bruce was talking about his secrets in front of a third party. The only reason he hadn't bolted yet was because he really did trust Banner.

"You blew up the engine." Bruce said. "That let the other guy loose. I-, he attacked Natasha. I almost killed her. I destroyed half the carrier and fell out of the sky."

He paused and watched the words breach Clint's defenses.

"And I never blamed you for any of that. I blame Loki."

"So what, Bruce?" Clint asked a bit too quickly.

"I just wanted to tell you that." Bruce said, his brown eyes had not once left Clint's eyes.

Clint shrugged. All of the sudden he didn't want to speak, his voice would probably betray him.

"Are you hearing what I'm saying?"

Clint's face was tight with furtive emotion. He gave one small nod.

Steve took one step toward Clint and did exactly what Bruce had subconsciously hoped for. He backed up what his words.

"Barton." He said in his calm voice. "Dr. Banner speaks for me too."

Clint turned his face to Steve. He had no idea that he ever needed this, no idea that it would hurt and feel so good at the same time.

"And, you can trust me when I say I speak for Stark and Thor and even Pepper. If you need to know that none of us hold that stuff against you, then listen to me. Whatever he made you do, we forgive you for it."

Bruce looked to Steve to see if he was finished. Then suddenly it all felt very awkward to him and he hesitated before he addressed Clint again.

"That's all I wanted to tell you." He said. "I guess I'll see you later." Then he walked right back out of the gym.

Clint was left standing there like a deer in the head lights. He looked over to Steve who had the decency to get back to punching and discontinue the awkwardness. Clint's first instinct was to disappear from sight, but Bruce was gone and Steve spared him from any more focus.

Haltingly he turned back to the giant canvas cylinder. His desire to beat the crap out of it was gone.

A small smile spread across his face.

"Cap." He said.

Steve paused and looked over at him.

"Thanks." And he meant it.

Steve gave a nod and got back to punching.

 

./././././././././.

 

Natasha returned late that night. Clint was waiting up for her when she shuffled out of the elevator. Her small duffle dropped from her hand as she kicked off her shoes.

"Evening." Clint said with a smile as she came and sat down next to him. She had been officially debriefed after the mission at SHIELD. Now it was time for her debrief with Clint. This little ritual consisted of the two of them sitting in silence and sharing a flask of vodka. It usually took place in a secluded, often dark place. Tonight the pair opted for the couch by the huge windows in their common area. The lights of the city outside threw soft soft light into the room. This was their custom, their unwinding. They literally never spoke when they did this unless something absolutely had to be expelled from their insides. It was like a quaker meeting, but not at all. Not one bit. This time, after a long time sitting in comfortable silence, Clint was moved to speak.

"I'm sorry." He said.

"For what?"

"For trying to hurt you."

"Clint-" She began, but he didn't let her finish.

"I need you to forgive me."

"You didn't do it." She didn't understand why he was rehashing this.

"Please." He said.

Natasha paused, trying to discern his features in the darkened room.

"Alright." She didn't know what prompted the request, but she could do this one thing for him. "I forgive you for trying to hurt me. It will never be held against you and it will never come between us."

"Thank you." he said quietly. And he smiled, because her words felt good.

Her arms found their way around him and his fingers entwined with hers.

"We're ok." She said.

"I know." He whispered.


	17. Chapter 17

Bruce was standing at his large kitchen window. He did this every morning as the sun slowly bathed his kitchen in a gentle warmth. He loved it every time. His tea, his space, and the other guy nothing but a lull at the back of his consciousness. He tried to forget the times that lull had been a roar, back before he learned to deal with him, after the "accident". That truly was a nightmare, a reoccurring one at that. He'd wake with the other guy fighting him. He'd live with it and he'd go to sleep with it. Sometimes he would lose. Bruce closed his eyes for a second. It wasn't worth thinking of. He brought his steaming mug of tea to his lips and a new thought struck him. The other day, Clint had said that he "remembered" while mentioning his fight with Natasha on the helicarrier. Bruce felt a small throb in his heart. That poor bastard was still floundering. Not only did he know what he did, he remembered doing it. Suddenly he didn't want his tea anymore. He put it down and left it to cool on the counter. At least now he had something more he could get Clint to talk about. Immediately, Bruce was shocked at his own thought. He would hate to be thought of like a psych patient in the minds of his friends or, worse, his colleagues, or roommates or whatever they all were. Nor would he want to talk about this kind of personal thing. But, he reminded himself, Tony had looked, and still looked, for angles to get through to him which eventually led to him allowing the other guy to be a paramount asset in the battle in Manhattan. Clint had become a friend and just because Bruce was strategizing his communication with him didn't make it cold. It was intentional, not calculated. He was trying to help. Besides, Clint had let him in, given him a green light to see what he could do. Bruce was trying his best, as a friend, to do just that.

"I'm not a bleeding heart or a busy body." Bruce actually smiled at his own thoughts. It was laughable because he had hid for so long and resisted help so despairingly, but things had changed.

Bruce smiled to himself again.

. . . . . . .

"Doctor Banner." Jarvis said.

Bruce looked up.

"Yes?"

"Agent Barton."

"Oh. Thanks." Communicating with Jarvis continued to feel slightly awkward for him.

"Evenin'." Clint greeted as he strode into the lab. There was the subtlest hint of a lightened burden. "What're you up to, Doc?"

"Boring stuff."

"Touche." Clint said as he sat down.

"What's up?" Bruce asked, turning to face him.

"Nothin'."

Bruce nodded. He wouldn't push it, no matter how comfortable either of them had become in each other's company.

Clint added something he didn't expect. "I was just going to sit here... if that's ok?"

Bruce's lab had become a safe place for Barton. Or, maybe it was just Bruce's company.

Bruce smiled, shaking off the surprise of Barton's simple request. "Yeah. Of course. You're always welcome."

Clint nodded.

"Hey Bruce?" He added just as Bruce was turning back to his previous occupation.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. ...for saying what you said yesterday."

Bruce could only nod back. There was nothing to say about it. He'd meant every word.

So he went back to what he had been doing and Clint just sat there like a statue, not thinking, not worrying.

After a long time Bruce took off his glasses and turned to him.

"Can I ask you something?"

Clint looked up and his eyes bored into Banner, as if trying to find the question and examine it before it was asked. He nodded.

"You remembered looking Natasha in the eyes... The other day, you said that. Remember?"

"Sure." Barton tried to sound indifferent.

"You were aware of what was happening during the fact?" Bruce asked.

"Yes." Clint said, but then looked down.

He shook his head sadly.

"No, I don't remember them as me." He cocked his head uncomfortably and looked at the floor. "I remember them as I was." His fists flexed instinctively. "I remember, at the time, needing to kill Natasha. ...He'd pulled me out... And stuffed in his own f**ked up-"

Clint's words were immediately crushed by the clenching of his jaw. His eyes burned with tears that had suddenly brimmed. He did not want to do this. He did not want to be a victim.

"It's ok, Clint." Bruce said.

"My memories aren't mine." He said suddenly. "I remember what I did and what I felt." His voice got thicker with each word, but he didn't stop, and he didn't break down. "But they weren't my feelings! I never wanted to do those things! If I'd hurt her-"

Bruce didn't speak, didn't move. It appeared his simple question had pierced a swollen part of Clint's soul and now it was bleeding the contents. The poison and the truth of it came out in a huge mess. It was like Clint was staring at his own hands, covered in that blood, and realizing what it was he could see.

"I didn't do it! It wasn't me!" His eyes were wide, but not with surprise. It was sudden and overwhelming realization.

Bruce couldn't believe how relieved he felt to hear Clint say those words and actually believe them. It was like Tony had said, Clint had known all along, he just hadn't quite seen it yet. But he could see it now.

Barton stood up abruptly. "That f**k!" he practically growled through clenched teeth.

"F**k!" he shouted again. His fists crashed down on the table closest to him. "He wanted to hurt her! He tried to take everything from me!"

Clint kicked over the stool and his fists came crashing down onto the table again.

At that, Bruce stood up. "Barton." He said calmly. His hands raised in a non threatening manner.

"I didn't do it!" Clint said desperately.

"I know."

All of the sudden whatever was in Barton's eyes, in his voice caused a presence to stir somewhere in Bruce. The base of his spine tingled.

Barton's resolve was long gone now. "I didn't do it!" This time he said it to nobody in particular. He looked down at his open palms, the tools Loki had used for destruction. "He used me." He said quietly.

Bruce didn't understand what was happening, but he could feel the other guy coming.

"Barton!" He warned.

Clint instantly responded to his tone. He looked to Banner who was coloring green. It hurt and Bruce fell to his knees.

"Bruce!" Completely forgetting himself, Clint rushed over to him.

"What's wrong?!" He asked quickly as he knelt beside him, taking Bruce's shoulders in his hands.

"I- I don't know!" Bruce gasped.

"It's ok!" Clint assured him, though he was entirely uncertain if that was true.

"Please, go!" Bruce said through gritted teeth.

"No." Clint's voice was now perfectly calm. "I won't leave you." There was no way Clint would turn from Banner when he was in need, especially not after how he'd been there for him these past weeks.

Bruce was fighting it. He didn't want to hurt Clint and he didn't understand why this was happening this way.

Bruce tried to breathe deep, it was working, but he still had to fight it.

"Don't be stupid, Banner. Put him back." Clint said firmly as he squeezed Bruce's shoulders.

All of the sudden, the struggling Doctor started laughing at the absurdity of that statement. He shifted from kneeling to sitting, as Clint let go and gave him space. His muscles began to relax and the fire in his spine faded again. All the green quickly vanished from his skin.

Clint felt confused. Oddly, he also felt a little amused.

"Banner?"

There was a minute of laughing mixed with trying to breathe evenly before Bruce got a hold of himself.

Finally he looked to Clint. "You should've left." He said with a tone colored in regret.

"What the hell was that, Doc?" Barton asked, ignoring Bruce's comment.

Barton lent a hand in pulling Banner to his feet.

"I don't know." Then his eyes connected with Clint's. "I'm so sorry. I didn't-"

"Don't." Clint said.

Bruce looked at him, still expecting disappointment, fear, rejection, anything other than what he actually got.

"Thank you." Clint said. His face was full of a peace that hadn't been there previously. He gave Bruce another squeeze of the shoulder. This time less forceful and more friendly.

And as soon as he said that, Clint stood left. He needed to be alone now and think.

When Bruce was alone, he let out a shaky sigh and leaned against the desk. The other guy was shook up. That much had been clear, but was it anger? It was strange and somewhat unnerving, but Bruce didn't sense the typical fear or danger. He honestly believed the other guy might have just hugged Barton if he'd come bursting forth. A handful of times Bruce had felt angry for the pain Clint had experienced and had been fighting so hard to tear out of his mind. This wasn't anger like those times. It was like a fierce compassion. Nevertheless, he hadn't been willing to risk it.

Bruce rubbed his eyes.

Well, that was new.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Upon the darkness I was trapped. And as the last of breath was drawn from me. The light broke in and brought me to my feet."

Moonlight flooded across the room and everything in it glowed softly. Clint awoke sharply and moments later Natasha awoke to his muttering. In the forgiving light she could see him sitting up, arms lashed tightly around his folded up legs. He pressed his forehead to his knees.

"It wasn't me. It wasn't me." He was repeating quietly. Natasha sat up and placed a hand on his back. The tension there lessened somewhat at her touch.

"You're right." She whispered to him. "You're right."

Her ever steady tone soothed his racing mind.

She did not, however, need to tell him.

He knew now.

. . . . . . . . .

After disappearing from Bruce's lab, Clint had retreated to the firing range. For two hours he drew, took aim and released. Over and over again, never missing. His mind replayed and replayed his own words and Bruce's, testing their strength. With each repeating thought, the deepest relief gradually flooded his system. Clint had spoken what he now knew to be true and he could breath easy once more.

It had been a breakthrough in the truest sense of the word. One Clint had not been aware of needing. He suddenly felt in control in a way he hadn't since the day his eyes were turned blue. The pain was still there, as was the anger, but finally verbalizing and understanding for himself that he wasn't responsible caused a huge shift inside him. Clint could see something that had been there all along. From the start the fact had been clawing it's way to the surface of his consciousness. Despite its slow and steady approach, Clint had not been able to see through the fog that shrouded it. But, the sun was shining on it now. It was as clear as day.

It wasn't him. It was never him. Loki had been the one responsible, not Clint Barton.

He'd known it, but could not accept it fully until he finally tore through everything that kept it hidden.

Once he'd left the range, Clint perched in Natasha's window sill until dawn. She sat atop her made bed, cross legged and listening. The truth had to be spoken and spoken again until it was apart of his internal landscape. He told her what Bruce asked, what he realized. He told her what it felt like, although the right words wouldn't come. Still, she understood. From time to time his eyes forced shut trying to wrench the words from his mind. He was yanking out buried roots, understanding something for the very first time. Natasha listened mostly, and spoke only a few times to help him along or just tell him the truth. Clint told her things he'd never told her before. Things he'd felt at the time and now was brave enough to say because he could no longer claim them as his own. They came from Loki and belonged to him. Clint didn't have to be afraid of those feelings, those thoughts. It was clear now that they had passed from his mind along with Loki a long time ago. They were not waiting inside of him, waiting to destroy what he loved. Natasha listened. She wasn't afraid. She listened and felt the profound relief of getting her best friend back.

"He wanted that knife in your throat. He made me want it for him." His eyes were closed as he spoke these words. As much as he knew now that those hideous desires were not his and never were, the pain of them was acute. "To see your blood on my hands. His need to cause suffering and horror, it was in me. To see that carrier fall and burn. Wanting to watch every person die. I wanted it for him. I wanted it so badly. But it wasn't mine."

In the darkness, the smallest of smiles tugged at her mouth. Loki was finally being rid of. Clint was coming out of the woods.

She'd missed him.

 

In the days that came after, Barton gained back the confidence to try sleeping in his own room again. It was a gradual process, but he was fighting. Nightmares continued to ebb. When they came, he woke up with the horror, but not the guilt. He still felt terror at the images in his mind, still dreaded their return and always made sure Natasha was safe. But that guilt was faded. It poked at him in the day time, but really held no sway anymore. He knew that it had been Loki. He felt the pain of the experiences, but no longer the blame. For the very first time since that day Fury met him in the SHIELD shooting range, Clint considered going back to SHIELD. The thought of a psych eval was suddenly not the terror that it had been. All of the sudden he didn't see himself as the monster, and its accompanying need to hide himself permanently from sight became a shadow.

Clint thought the strength he felt from his new found knowledge was enough to overcome the simple realization that he'd been used and exploited. He didn't need to think about that pain anymore. It didn't matter anymore. As far as he was concerned, it was no longer an issue. It seemed reasonable to believe that he could now just forget that another's choice had left him terrified, some one he barely recognized.

 

Clint Barton was an illusive person by nature, but he no longer avoided Stark or Pepper. He stopped being afraid of group settings, of being feared, of being hated or judged. He was on their page now. They never saw him as a culprit and now neither did he. So, Barton felt bold enough to join the group over the next weeks. He even made some good money off a bet with Tony over something so stupid he didn't even remember. It only mattered that he won and that Stark was an idiot. Tony began trying to entice him to take bets with higher and higher stakes. Clint refused for the simple pleasure of driving the man crazy over it. Stark, on the other hand, was a formidable opponent in the realm of irritation, and he considered this a challenge.

 

Very soon, Clint was sleeping every night in his own room, nightmares or not. Sparring with Natasha began again, something he had mostly avoided up until now. The fear that somewhere deep down inside him he still wanted to hurt her was gone. Smiles returned to his face, mischief more than doubt, trust more than fear. They got back things lost to them, things Loki had taken.

 

Clint went back to SHIELD. Visiting the place was worse than seeing the actual shrink. Thought the corridors whispers followed him, some glares came and, as he was leaving, there was one outright confrontation. Clint put the offending agent in his place with little effort, but it didn't change the way the agent or others like him felt. He knew he had nothing to prove, but still the past would always be the past.

When he sat down with the shrink, he told her what she wanted to hear and meant most of it. Getting cleared was far more unspectacular of an event than originally feared. He left that office after some hours, ready to leave and not come back unless absolutely necessary. This place wasn't home to him anymore. He'd found a new one.

Fury caught him on his way out. On this occasion a simple nod was exchanged and no more.

Since the battle of Manhattan, Fury had essentially been weaning SHIELD off of Agent Romanoff. They'd gone cold turkey with Barton due to his going to ground. The director knew the pair would be part of The Avengers Initiative. Despite the handful times Romanoff had been called in since that day, Natasha had been working less and less, and spending more and more time at Stark Tower, becoming part of the team. So, by the time Clint was back on the job, Fury had already considered them apart of a new entity. He'd be called if needed, but he was an Avenger now. The tower and with the team was where he now belonged.

 

Rogers and Barton continued forging a friendship in silence. The gym on Clint and Natasha's floor had become Steve's haven. He and Clint perfected a method of sparring in which both men benefitted. Steve playing the part of the punching bag never again occurred. Clint's trust and respect for Rogers grew more and more with time, built in the silence of each other's presence. Steve considered Barton a man to be deeply respected and was never sorry to see him.

Natasha was frequently with them in the gym and Clint continued to find her friendship with Steve something of a marvel.

 

As Clint appeared more and more with the team at dinners and casual run-ins around the tower, his guard also dropped more and more. The natural sarcasm and mischievousness that he possessed began to surface for the others to see. The provocations of Tony Stark drew it out further. It got to the point where Clint and Stark's interactions were so heavily sarcastic that it made Steve uncomfortable some times. There were one too many moments in which he was not clear on whether or not they hated each other. Then a clap on the shoulder would occur or a sudden smile would break out. That's when Rogers was reminded that the archer and the engineer liked each other just fine.

 

Pepper was as kind toward Clint as she had been that first time he joined them for dinner. She was a friend through and through to each of the Avengers. Clint liked Pepper. He liked Tony. Still, he could not understand the relationship between them. Although, that thought never penetrated his skull any further than its initial contact each time he saw them.

 

Although Clint had not come to see Banner since the night he shuffled off blame and gave it back to Loki, the two men now saw each other often enough and their friendship continued on. In reality Bruce suddenly started spending more time with Tony in the labs. He knew Barton would stay away if he couldn't talk privately. If he was honest with himself, Bruce was afraid of what happened before. He did not want another opportunity to chance the other guy's appearance. Barton, for his part, was perceptive enough to know what Bruce was afraid of and gave the man space accordingly.

 

It gave Natasha comfort to know that she was not the only person (alive) who knew Clint. Yes, she knew him deeper than any of them ever would, but he was letting these people be his team. She had let them in, but Clint was her partner. Natasha wanted that for both of them. Now, finally it was happening. So, when the team was eventually called up for the first real threat since Loki, they responded as a team. Unlike in that first fight, they knew each other now. They trusted each other, and each of them watched the other's back because they wanted to and not only because it was necessary. Even Clint. Especially Clint, who spent the most time watching his team mate's backs. He was glad to do it now. He was ready to. Natasha had been taking silent note of the confidence Clint was reclaiming and disappearance of the obvious shame he had been carrying around. The infection was healed, though the thorn was still in there somewhere. The guilt had been the thing that made him hide, made him doubt who he even was. So, Natasha smiled to herself when she watched Hawkeye, shed of that burdensome doubt, take up the highest vantage point, ready for anything. To hear him once again bantering over the comm, unafraid to be relied on, just being himself again. That felt right, like home. Clint was back.

 

But sadness still gathered in clouds. Though they remained far and high, they were dark and they were full. He found it relatively easy to forget their presence and keep living like they were not there. Natasha, in all her perceptiveness, sensed it, but never asked him. He showed up. He was trying. He was reaching out and moving forward.

Clint had gained ground that he would not give it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I found as I regained my feet, a wound across my memory that no amount of stitches could repair..."


	19. Chapter 19

Banner had gotten used to this custom. He did not necessarily let the hulk out when he was alone in the woods. It was just so good to be alone and let his guard down. Whether or not the other guy made an appearance was not important. What was important was that he could and it would make no difference. That knowledge was well worth a few hours of driving. Banner had made Stark promise never to track him. As incorrigible as Tony could be, he would not deny Bruce that luxury. Bruce wanted to disappear and Tony would let him.

Bruce sat with his back against a tree in the same old clearing that he'd been coming to. Tonight he wasn't reading or thinking, just watching the golden sunlight retreat from the leaves on the trees all around. His ear were listening, his mind roamed. No mental effort, no vigilance. Just him. The other guy wandered freely on the edges of this consciousness, needing no supervision.

"Pretty scary." Came a nonchalant voice from behind him. A twig snapped under the approaching boot steps.

Shit. Bruce sighed as he let his head fall back against the tree trunk. He looked up at the sky, hoping Barton might disappear. Up went his guard and he could feel the other guy bristle at the imposition.

The man didn't leave, but came closer. He began to wander around the clearing examining the site.

"What are you doing here, Barton?" Bruce couldn't hide the exasperation in his voice. Nobody else was supposed to be here.

"I came to see you." Clint said cheerily.

"Here I am. You need to go."

Clint turned to face him. "You really think he'll hurt me? After what happened?" He was asking honestly.

Bruce didn't respond. He didn't "really think" anything. He was just afraid, but apparently Barton had assumed what Bruce sensed. The big guy had stirred for Clint, not because of him.

"I really don't think he'll hurt me, Bruce."

"You don't know that, Clint."

"No, but I'm not scared to test it. Besides, I've been meaning to follow you out here for a while now. See what it's all about."

Bruce shook his head. "He's not coming while you're here."

"That's fine." Clint said indifferently. "Do you mind if I stay here anyway?"

Bruce looked around at the peaceful place. Of course he minded. He could be alone any place he wanted. He was here for seclusion, and safety, for everybody.

Bruce blew out a sigh. "Why not?" he shrugged with resignation.

"Great." Clint said. His next move was unexpected. He scaled the tree Bruce was seated under and comfortably situated himself on the first suitable bough.

"That's why you're the Hawk, huh?" Bruce said, looking up into the tree.

"Guess so." Clint said indifferently.

Bruce looked out across the woods again.

"Anybody know you followed me?"

"Natasha knows." Clint said plainly.

Bruce knew better than to ask enquire further. He shifted focus.

"Did you hide in the truck?"

"Under it." Clint smirked.

"You're crazy." Bruce said simply.

"I've hitched crazier rides. Believe me."

Bruce gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, I do."

"Most fun, though, is definitely getting a lift with Stark. You should try that some time."

"Yeah, I doubt that I will." Bruce smiled to himself.

"I am sorry, though, for making the big guy freak out."

"It's ok. Really."

"Were you angry?"

"Maybe... at Loki? But I, he felt more concerned for you. It was like... he wanted to protect you."

"Weird." Clint mused from above his head. "Well," He added, looking down to Banner. "I'd be happy to have the Hulk in my corner."

Bruce smirked. "Your own personal attack dog."

Clint's face fell. Bruce couldn't see.

There was silence from up in the tree for a few minutes. Banner didn't mind, but eventually Clint spoke quietly.

"He said I had heart."

Bruce noted the melancholy in his tone. There was no need to ask who "he" was.

Banner looked up and could just see Barton's face. His eyes were fiercely examining a small twig that he twirled in his fingers.

"...But he froze it with the scepter." Clint looked up and tossed the twig aside. "Took it."

Bruce looked back down at the grass beside him.

"I'm sorry, Clint." was all he could think to say.

It wasn't much, but nobody had said that to him, not even Natasha. A simple expression that what happened was just bad and that they wished it away. That's all Bruce did. Still, it reached way down where nobody was allowed and pulled a certain heart string, the one that admitted he had been hurt, that it was just altogether unfortunate. That was the one nobody was supposed to touch. All this time he'd just kept pushing it away.

It washed over him now and Barton didn't resist.

"I f**king hate him."

Clint choked on his own words and vomited them back up. In the tree, up on that branch the hawk began to sob. The last time he'd done that was the night after the battle when so much immediate pain had to be thrown off. Sure, he had cried a few times since, but not like this. Those time had only been tears. His body was expelling old pain from hidden places now.

Bruce looked up helplessly.

Turning his face away again, he chose to just listen.

The heartbreaking sounds coming from Barton started pressing against his mind. He began to wish he could do something, but there was nothing. More and more his heart ached with compassion for the man in the tree. Then it happened. Clint's cries of pain hit the right nerves. The sounds reached deep enough into Bruce's mind and the base of his spine started to tingle like it had in his lab the last time he'd seen Clint there. This time though he didn't warn Barton. He didn't take deep breaths. Bruce let the feelings overtake him. They didn't feel dangerous, so he let the Hulk push him out of the way. The tingling turned to a burn, his muscles caught fire, and his clothes began to rip. His vision blurred with green and his ears filled with the sounds of his own groans.

Then, it was over.

All Hulk knew was that he needed to protect.

Clint hoped the Hulk would kill him. He heard what was happening below, and he didn't even care. He was actually glad. Do it. Please just do it. At that moment, dying felt ok. Clint didnt bother to look down, and kept on crying. Stopping wasn't really an option anyway. Clint knew the Hulk would find him easily enough, so he just waited, not caring.

The Hulk let out low growls, almost like grieved moans, until he bellowed a roar and crashed his fists against the tree trunk. It shook so violently that Barton was jarred from his perch. He landed hard on the ground. His sobs now mixed with coughs caused by choking on his saliva. Clint rolled over onto his side and curled himself into a ball, feeling nothing but crushing sadness. All the while, the hulk loomed over him, just watching. Barton's fingers wove into his own hair. His hands clenched into fists and pulled. Leaves and grass and brown hair stuck out from between all his fingers. He waited to die, but it didn't happen. The weirdest thing in the history of the world happened instead.

The Hulk took hold of one of Clint's arms.

Finally. Clint thought as the pressure increased around his bicep.

He pulled the tiny man, dragging him into his massive arms.

What the f**k was happening Clint did not know. Honestly, he didn't care.

Clint Barton found himself, still curled up, cradled in two giant green arms, against one giant green chest. The Hulks heartbeat thundered in his ears. The adrenaline from expecting death was suddenly overcome with this new, profound feeling of safety. Intense relief flooded his whole body and Clint succumbed to being pitied by this huge beast. He pressed his face into the hulk as his sobs renewed in force.

All the shame was gone. He was small, just a man, and he was hurt. It felt safe to be in the arms of this huge protector.

That was ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There's no falling back to sleep  
> Once you've waken from the dream  
> Now I'm rested and I'm ready to begin"


	20. Epilogue

Thor stepped out onto the roof of Stark tower where the evening summer breeze greeted him warmly. All it took was one quick glance to find what he'd come for. Clint Barton was sitting out on a ledge, silhouetted against the dimming sky.

"I was told you could be found in this place." Thor said to the back of Clint's head where a cowlick of his brown hair swayed lightly with the wind. His shoulders were hunched in his fitted grey t-shirt, his elbows locked, and his palms held himself in place on the ledge. His bare feet beneath a pair of black combat pants dangled hundreds of stories above the street.

It was quiet up here. Thor could easily see the appeal. The never ending din of New York City, which he found overwhelming, here were no more than a distant chorus of discordant sounds. Against the peacefulness of this high up perch, it translated into something comfortable.

Clint shrugged, hands still planted on either side of him. "Yeah." was all he said, not thinking that required much of a response.

Thor had just returned from Asgard for the first time since Loki's fun filled visit to earth. Clint had greeted him upon his arrival, but soon found it too difficult to be around the Asgardian. Something about his presence caused him to feel exposed. Yes, he'd worked through what happened and had come a really long way since that day Natasha "hit him really hard in the head". But, this was something else. Thor was too close to it. He was Loki's brother and Clint simply felt the familiar need to hide. It was less obvious to him now then it would have been a few months ago as to who would be the culprit to have sent Thor after him. It could have been any of them, or all of them, or none of them. Natasha was no longer the only person looking out for him. There was a whole new family downstairs.

Thor approached without further comment. Sitting down beside Clint, he left enough space to spare the man any sense of imposition or intrusion. He folded his hands together and took a casual glance downward. He was not afraid of heights. (Or anything else for that matter.) His golden hair was pulled back into a pony tail. So far Thor very much liked summer on Midgard. On this occasion he was not clad in his armor and cape, but rather a brown henley, blue jeans and timberland boots. (These shoes were chosen from a few options Pepper presented him with. He seemed to think they were warrior appropriate.) Tony had made very sure that there was "human-style", "earth-appropriate" garb on hand for Thor's eventual return.

"It is quite a view." He commented kindly. His booming voice was now restrained to a gentle roar, something like the ocean at night.

"I like it." Clint agreed, no longer feeling uncomfortable. Thor's presence didn't disturb him out here. He felt fine now. He really could see better from a distance.

"It is clear that you would prefer solitude, so I will be brief."

This made Clint look at Thor. Air-clearing frankness always got his attention.

"I apologize for what my brother did to you."

Immediately Clint looked at his hands. The mention of Loki still struck a nerve, but he recovered quickly.

"You didn't do it." He said plainly. That was the truth.

"He is my brother and you are a friend." Thor insisted gently, but in such a way that this fact was clearly an absolute.

Clint looked out at the city's lights.

"And I am sorry for any pain he caused you." Thor continued.

Clint nodded. He appreciated that. He truly did.

"I have come here also to ask for your forgiveness."

Barton turned to him, genuinely confused. Thor responded to the look he was receiving.

"I understand that it was Loki, and not I, who wronged you." His brow furrowed above his shining blue eyes and he now focused his attentions on the far off horizon. "But, for my part, I have wronged Loki in my life. And in wronging him, helped to fuel his rage to rain down terror on your people." Thor paused very briefly. "On you."

He looked Clint straight in the eyes again. "It is for that I ask your forgiveness."

Clint gave an appraising nod. He understood. Still, he considered Thor to have no need of his forgiveness. The things he was saying were between him and his brother. But Clint would grant Thor's request because he knew exactly what it was like to feel like that, having been there so recently.

So, Barton put out a hand in good old Midgardian fashion. Thor looked at it, and then took it, gripping it strongly.

"Then you've got it." Clint said, giving Thor a firm handshake. He meant it.

"Thank you, Clint Barton."

"Thank you, Thor." Clint spoke with strength and sincerity to a man he barely knew and barely knew him.

Thor's eyes flickered with signs of relief, perhaps a peace that had evaded him for months. Lifted guilt was a powerful thing. Clint knew this well.

Thor nodded. "That is all I had need to say."

With that, he rose. Clint felt a large hand firmly grip his shoulder and give it a single reassuring shake.

His mouth quirked up into a small smile as Thor's footsteps receded.

It was nice to know he could face the void again and now be certain he wouldn't fall in. It was also just plain funny to sit side by side with an lightening-wielding-space-prince on a regular summer evening.

Everything about his life was stranger than it had already been. It was filled with numerous, new and bizarre people who had no business being in the same room, let alone on a team meant for saving the world. Yet, despite all this seeming madness, it all felt right to Clint. He didn't want to be anywhere else.


End file.
